3  1822  01143  7878 


3  1822  01143  7878 


Under  the  Witches'  Moon 


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Castel  del  Monte 
The  Sorceress  of  Rome 
The  Court  of  Lucifer 
The  Hill  of  Venus 
The  Crimson  Gondola 


Under  the  Witches'  Moon 

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THE   PAGE  COMPANY 

53    BEACON    STREET,    BOSTON,    MASS. 


It  was  that  of  a  man  comine  towards  her"     (Seepage  143) 


Under  the 
Witches'  Moon 

A  Romantic  Tale 
of  Mediaeval  Rome 

BT 

Nathan  Gallizier 

Author  of  "The  Crimson  Gondola,"     'The  Hill  of  Venus," 

'The  Court  of  Lucifer,"    ''The  Sorceress  of  Rome," 

"Castel  del  Monte,"  Etc. 


THE     PAGE     COMPANY 
BOSTON  MDCCCCXVII 


Copyright, 
BY  THE  PAGE  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  October,   1917 


THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.    H.    SIMONDS    CO.,    BOSTON,    U.    S.    A. 


"  'T'O  some  Love  comes  so  splendid  and  so  soon, 
With  such  wide  wings  and  steps  so  royally, 
That  they,  like  sleepers  wakened  suddenly, 
Expecting  dawn,  are  blinded  by  his  noon, 

"  To  some  Love  comes  so  silently  and  late, 
That  all  unheard  he  is,  and  passes  by, 
Leaving  no  gift  but  a  remembered  sigh, 
While  they  stand  watching  at  another  gate. 

"  But  some  know  Love  at  the  enchanted  hour, 

They  hear  him  singing  like  a  bird  afar, 
They  see  him  coming  like  a  falling  star, 
They  meet  his  eyes  —  and  all  their  world's  in  flower." 

ETHEL   CLIFFORD 


CONTENTS 


BOOK   THE   FIRST 

Chapter  Page 

I.  The  Fires  of  St.  John 3 

H.  The  Weaving  of  the  Spell 13 

m.  The  Dream  Lady  of  Avalon 20 

IV.  The  Way  of  the  Cross 30 

V.  On  the  Aventine 38 

VI.  The  Coup 46 

Vn.  Masks  and  Mummers 60 

VHI.  The  Shrine  of  Hekate 67 

IX.  The  Game  of  Love 79 

X.  A  Spirit  Pageant 90 

XI.  The  Denunciation 97 

XII.  The  Confession  102 


BOOK    THE    SECOND 

I.  The  Grand  Chamberlain 115 

II.  The  Call  of  Eblis 128 

HI.  The  Crystal  Sphere 134 

IV.  Persephone 146 

V.  Magic  Glooms 152 

VI.  The  Lure  of  the  Abyss 160 

VII.  The  Face  in  the  Panel 167 

Vm.  The  Shadow  of  Asrael 173 

IX.  The  Feast  of  Theodora 187 

X.  The  Chalice  of  Oblivion  204 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  THE  THIRD 
Chapter  Page 

I.     Wolfsbane 221 

H.    Under  the  Saffron  Scarf 230 

in.     Dark  Plottings        240 

IV.    Face  to  Face 250 

V.    The  Cressets  of  Doom 259 

VI.    A  Meeting  of  Ghosts 269 

VII.    A  Bower  of  Eden 279 

Vm.    An  Italian  Night 289 

IX.    The  Net  of  the  Fowler 299 

X.     Devil  Worship 307 

XI.    By  Lethe's  Shores 314 

XII.    The  Death  Watch 323 

Xni.    The  Convent  in  Trastevere 335 

XIV.    The  Phantom  of  the  Lateran  .  341 


BOOK  THE  FOURTH 

I.  The  Return  of  the  Moor 351 

II.  The  Escape  from  San  Angelo 356 

HI.  The  Lure 367 

IV.  A  Lying  Oracle 377 

V.  Bitter  Waters 384 

VI.  From  Dream  to  Dream 389 

VH.  A  Roman  Medea 402 

VHI.  In  Tenebris 413 

IX.  The  Conspiracy 419 

X.  The  Broken  Spell 427 

XI.  The  Black  Mass 440 

Xn.  Sunrise    .  453 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

"  It  was  that  of  a  man  coining  towards  her."     (See  page  11+3  ) 

Frontispiece 

"  A  strange  look  passed  into  Theodora's  eyes  "          ....       83 
"  Pelting  the  dancing  girls  for  idle  diversion  "  ....     192 

"  Thrown  her  saffron  scarf  over  the  prostrate  youth"       .          .         .     236 


BOOK  THE   FIRST 


UNDER  THE  WITCHES' 
MOON 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   FIRES   OF   ST.   JOHN 

T  was  the  eve  of  St.  John  in 
the  year  of  our  Lord  Nine  Hun 
dred  Thirty-Five. 

High  on  the  cypress-clad  hills 
of  the  Eternal  City  the  evening 
sun  had  flamed  valediction,  and 
the  last  lights  of  the  dying  day 
were  fading  away  on  the  waves 
of  the  Tiber  whose  changeless 
tide  has  rolled  down  through 
centuries  of  victory  and  defeat,  of  pride  and  shame,  of  glory 
and  disgrace. 

The  purple  dusk  began  to  weave  its  phantom  veil  over  the 
ancient  capital  of  the  Caesars  and  a  round  blood-red  moon 
was  climbing  slowly  above  the  misty  crests  of  the  Alban  Hills, 
draining  the  sky  of  its  crimson  sunset  hues. 

The  silvery  chimes  of  the  Angelus,  pealing  from  churches 
and  convents,  from  Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere  to  Santa  Maria 
of  the  Aventine,  began  to  sing  their  message  of  peace  into  the 
heart  of  nature  and  of  man. 

As  the  hours  of  the  night  advanced  and  the  moon  rose 
higher  in  the  star-embroidered  canopy  of  the  heavens,  a  vast 
concourse  of  people  began  to  pour  from  shadowy  lanes  and 
thoroughfares,  from  sanctuaries  and  hostelries,  into  the 


4     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Piazza  Navona.  Romans  and  peasants  from  the  Campagna, 
folk  from  Tivoli,  Velletri,  Corneto  and  Terracina,  pilgrims 
from  every  land  of  the  then  known  world,  Africans  and 
Greeks,  Lombards  and  Franks,  Sicilians,  Neapolitans,  Syrians 
and  Kopts,  Spaniards  and  Saxons,  men  from  the  frozen  coast 
of  Thule  and  the  burning  sands  of  Arabia,  traders  from  the 
Levant,  sorcerers  from  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  conjurers  from 
the  mythical  shores  of  the  Ganges,  adventurers  from  the 
Barbary  coast,  gypsies  from  the  plains  of  Sarmatia,  monks 
from  the  Thebaide,  Normans,  Gascons  and  folk  from  Aqui- 
taine. 

In  the  Piazza  Navona  booths  and  stalls  had  been  erected 
for  the  sale  of  figs  and  honey,  and  the  fragrant  products  of  the 
Roman  osterie. 

Strings  of  colored  lanterns  danced  and  quivered  in  the  air. 
The  fitful  light  from  the  torches,  sending  spiral  columns  of 
resinous  smoke  into  the  night-blue  ether,  shed  a  lurid  glow 
over  the  motley,  fantastic  crowd  that  increased  with  every 
moment,  recruited  from  fishermen,  flower  girls,  water- 
carriers  and  herdsmen  from  the  Roman  Campagna. 

Ensconced  in  the  shadow  of  a  roofless  portico,  a  relic  of 
the  ancient  Circus  Agonalis,  which  at  one  time  occupied  the 
site  of  the  Piazza  Navona,  and  regarding  the  bewildering 
spectacle  which  presented  itself  to  his  gaze,  with  the  air  of 
one  unaccustomed  to  such  scenes,  stood  a  stranger  whose 
countenance  revealed  little  of  the  joy  of  life  that  should  be 
the  heritage  of  early  manhood. 

His  sombre  and  austere  bearing,  the  abstracted  mood  and 
far-away  look  of  the  eyes  would  have  marked  him  a  dreamer 
in  a  society  of  men  who  had  long  been  strangers  to  dreams. 
For  stern  reality  ruled  the  world  and  the  lives  of  a  race 
untouched  alike  by  the  glories  of  the  past  and  the  dawn  of 
the  Pre-Renaissance. 

He  wore  the  customary  pilgrim's  habit,  almost  colorless 
from  the  effects  of  wind  and  weather.  Now  and  then  a 


THE   FIRES   OF   ST.  JOHN  5 

chance  passer-by  would  cast  shy  glances  at  the  lone  stranger, 
endeavoring  to  reconcile  his  age  and  his  garb,  and  wondering 
at  the  nature  of  the  transgression  that  weighed  so  heavily 
upon  one  apparently  so  young  in  years. 

And  well  might  his  countenance  give  rise  to  speculation, 
were  it  but  for  the  determined  and  stolid  air  of  aloofness 
which  seemed  to  render  futile  every  endeavor  to  entice  him 
into  the  seething  maelstrom  of  humanity  on  the  part  of  those 
who  took  note  of  his  dark  and  austere  form  as  they  crossed 
the  Piazza. 

Tristan  of  Avalon  was  in  his  thirtieth  year,  though  the 
hardships  of  a  long  and  tedious  journey,  consummated 
entirely  afoot,  made  him  appear  of  maturer  age.  The  face, 
long  exposed  to  the  relentless  rays  of  the  sun,  had  taken  on 
the  darker  tints  of  the  Southland.  The  nose  was  straight, 
the  grey  eyes  tinged  with  melancholy,  the  hair  was  of  chest 
nut  brown,  the  forehead  high  and  lofty.  The  ensemble  was 
that  of  one  who,  unaccustomed  to  the  pilgrim's  garb,  moves 
uneasily  among  his  kind.  Yet  the  atmosphere  of  frivolity, 
while  irritating  and  jarring  upon  his  senses,  did  not  permit 
him  to  avert  his  gaze  from  the  orgy  of  color,  the  pandemonium 
of  jollity,  that  whirled  and  piped  and  roared  about  him  as  the 
flow  of  mighty  waters. 

One  of  many  strange  wayfarers  bound  upon  business  of 
one  sort  or  another  to  the  ancient  seat  of  empire,  whose 
worldly  sceptre  had  long  passed  from  her  palsied  grip  to 
the  distant  shores  of  the  Bosporus,  Tristan  had  arrived  during 
the  early  hours  of  the  day  in  the  feudal  and  turbulent  witches' 
cauldron  of  the  Rome  of  the  Millennium. 

And  with  him  constituents  of  many  peoples,  from  far  and 
near,  had  reached  the  Leonine  quarter  from  the  Tiburtine 
road,  after  months  of  tedious  travel,  to  worship  at  the  holy 
shrines,  to  do  penance  and  to  obtain  absolution  for  real  or 
imaginary  transgressions. 

From  Bosnia,  from  Servia  and  Hungary,  from  Negropont 


6    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

and  the  islands  of  the  Greek  Archipelago,  from  Trebizond  and 
the  Crimea  it  came  endlessly  floating  to  the  former  capital  of 
the  Caesars,  a  waste  drift  of  palaces  and  temples  and  antique 
civilizations,  for  the  End  of  Time  was  said  to  be  nigh,  and  the 
dread  of  impending  judgment  lay  heavily  upon  the  tottering 
world  of  the  Millennium. 

A  grotesque  and  motley  crowd  it  was,  that  sought  and 
found  a  temporary  haven  in  the  lowly  taverns,  erected  for  the 
accommodation  of  perennial  pilgrims,  chiefly  mean  ill-favored 
dwellings  of  clay  and  timber,  divided  into  racial  colonies,  so 
that  pilgrims  of  the  same  land  and  creed  might  dwell  together. 

A  very  Babel  of  voices  assailed  Tristan's  ear,  for  the 
ancient  sonorous  tongue  had  long  degenerated  into  the 
lingua  Franca  of  bad  Latin,  though  there  were  some  who 
could  still,  though  in  a  broken  and  barbarous  fashion,  make 
themselves  understood,  when  all  other  modes  of  expression 
failed  them. 

All  about  him  throbbed  the  strange,  weird  music  of  zith- 
erns  and  lutes  and  the  thrumming  of  the  Egyptian  Sistrum. 
The  air  of  the  summer  night  was  heavy  with  the  odor  of 
incense,  garlic  and  roses.  The  higher  risen  moon  gleamed 
pale  as  an  alabaster  lamp  in  the  dark  azure  of  the  heavens, 
trembling  luminously  on  the  waters  of  a  fountain  which  occu 
pied  the  centre  of  the  Piazza.  Navona. 

Here  lolled  some  scattered  groups  of  the  populace,  dis 
cussing  the  events  of  the  day,  jesting,  gesticulating,  drinking 
or  love-making.  Others  roamed  about,  engaged  in  conver 
sation  or  enjoying  the  antics  of  two  Smyrniote  tumblers, 
whose  contortions  elicited  storms  of  applause  from  an  appre 
ciative  audience. 

A  crowd  of  maskers  had  invaded  the  Piazza  Navona,  and 
the  uncommon  spectacle  at  last  drew  Tristan  from  his  point 
of  vantage  and  caused  him  to  mingle  with  the  crowds,  which 
increased  with  every  moment,  their  shouts  and  gibes  and 
the  clatter  of  their  tongues  becoming  quite  deafening  to  his 


THE   FIRES   OF    ST.  JOHN  7 

ears.  Richly  decorated  chariots,  drawn  by  spirited  steeds, 
rolled  past  in  a  continuous  procession.  The  cries  of  the 
wine- venders  and  fruit-sellers  mingled  with  the  acclaim  of 
the  multitudes.  Now  and  then  was  heard  the  fanfare  of  a 
company  of  horsemen  who  clattered  past,  bound  upon  some 
feudal  adventure. 

Weary  of  walking,  distracted  by  the  ever  increasing  clamor, 
oppressed  with  a  sense  of  loneliness  amidst  the  surging 
crowds,  whose  festal  spirit  he  did  not  share,  Tristan  made 
his  way  towards  the  fountain  and,  seating  himself  on  the 
margin,  regardless  of  the  chattering  groups,  which  inter 
mittently  clustered  about  it,  he  felt  his  mood  gradually  calm 
in  the  monotony  of  the  gurgling  flow  of  the  water,  which 
spurted  from  the  grotesque  mouths  of  lions  and  dolphins. 

The  stars  sparkled  in  subdued  lustre  above  the  dark, 
towering  cypresses  which  crowned  the  adjacent  eminence 
of  Monte  Testaccio,  and  the  distant  palaces  and  ruins  stood 
forth  in  distinctness  of  splendor  and  desolation  beneath  the 
luminous  brightness  of  the  moonlit  heavens.  White  shreds 
of  mist,  like  sorrowing  spirits,  floated  above  the  winding 
course  of  the  Tiber,  and  enveloped  in  a  diaphanous  haze  the 
cloisters  upon  St.  Bartholomew's  Island  at  the  base  of  Mount 
Aventine. 

For  a  time  Tristan's  eyes  roamed  over  the  kaleidoscopic 
confusion  which  met  his  gaze  on  every  turn.  His  ear  was 
assailed  by  the  droning  sound  of  many  voices  that  filled  the 
air  about  him,  when  he  was  startled  by  the  approach  of  two 
men,  who,  but  for  their  halting  gait,  might  have  passed 
unheeded  in  the  rolling  sea  of  humanity  that  ebbed  and 
flowed  over  the  Piazza.. 

Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  was  endowed  with  the  ele 
gance  of  the  effeminate  Roman  noble  of  his  time.  Supple 
as  an  eel,  he  nevertheless  suggested  great  physical  strength. 
The  skin  was  of  a  deep  olive  tinge.  The  black,  beady  eyes 
were  a  marked  feature  of  the  countenance.  Inscrutable 


8     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

and  steadfast  in  regard,  with  a  hint  of  mockery  and  cynicism, 
coupled  with  an  abiding  alertness,  they  seemed  to  penetrate 
the  very  core  of  matter. 

He  wore  a  black  mantle  reaching  almost  to  his  feet.  Of 
his  features,  shaded  by  a  hood,  little  was  to  be  seen,  save 
his  glittering  minx-eyes.  These  he  kept  alternately  fixed 
upon  the  crowds  that  surged  around  him  and  on  his  com 
panion,  a  hunchback  garbed  entirely  in  black,  from  the  Span 
ish  hat,  which  he  wore  slouched  over  his  face,  to  the  black 
hose  and  sandals  that  encased  his  feet.  A  large  red  scar 
across  the  low  forehead  heightened  the  repulsiveness  of  his 
countenance.  There  was  something  strangely  sinister  in 
his  sunken,  cadaverous  cheeks,  the  low  brow,  the  inflamed 
eyelids,  and  his  limping  gait. 

Without  perceiving  or  heeding  the  presence  of  Tristan 
they  paused  as  by  some  preconcerted  signal. 

As  the  taller  of  the  two  pushed  back  the  hood  of  his  pilgrim 
garb,  as  if  to  cool  his  brow  in  the  night  breeze,  Tristan  peered 
into  a  face  not  lacking  in  sensuous  refinement.  Dark  super 
cilious  eyes  roved  from  one  object  to  another,  without  dwell 
ing  long  on  any  particular  one.  There  was  somewhat  of  a 
cynical  look  in  the  downward  curve  of  the  eyebrows,  the 
thin  straight  lips  and  the  slightly  aquiline  nose,  which  seemed 
to  imbue  him  with  an  air  of  recklessness  and  daring,  that 
ill  consorted  with  his  monkish  garb. 

Their  discourse  was  at  first  almost  unintelligible  to  Tristan. 
The  language  of  the  common  people  had,  at  this  period  of 
the  history  of  Rome,  not  only  lost  its  form,  but  almost  the 
very  echo  of  the  Latin  tongue. 

After  a  time,  however,  Tristan  distinguished  a  name,  and, 
upon  listening  more  attentively,  the  burden  of  the  message 
began  to  unfold  itself. 

"Why  then  have  you  ventured  out  of  your  hell-hole  of 
iniquity,  when  discovery  means  death  or  worse?"  said  Basil, 
the  Grand  Chamberlain.  "Do  the  keeps  and  dungeons  of 


THE  FIRES   OF   ST.  JOHN  9 

the  Emperor's  Tomb  so  allure  you?  Or  do  you  trust  in 
some  miraculous  delivery  from  its  vermin-haunted  vaults?" 

At  these  words  Rome's  most  dreaded  bravo,  II  Gobbo  of 
the  Catacombs,  snarled  contemptuously. 

"You  are  needlessly  alarmed,  my  lord.  They  will  not 
look  for  n  Gobbo  in  this  company,  though  even  a  mole  may 
walk  in  the  shadow  of  a  saint." 

Basil  regarded  the  speaker  with  mingled  pity  and  contempt. 

"There  is  room  for  all  the  world  in  Rome  and  the  devil 
to  boot." 

II  Gobbo  chuckled  unpleasantly. 

"  Besides  —  folk  about  here  show  a  great  reverence  for 
a  holy  garb  —  " 

"Always  with  fitting  reservations,"  interposed  the  Grand 
Chamberlain  sardonically.  "I  have  had  it  in  mind  at  some 
time  or  other  to  relieve  the  Grand  Penitentiary.  The  good 
man's  lungs  must  be  well  nigh  bursting  with  the  foul  air 
down  there  by  the  Tomb  of  the  Apostle.  He  will  welcome  a 
rest!" 

"Requiescat,"  chanted  the  bravo,  imitating  the  nasal 
tone  of  the  clergy. 

Basil  nodded  approval. 

"He  at  one  time  did  me  the  honor  of  showing  some  con 
cern  in  my  spiritual  welfare.  Know  you  what  I  replied?"  — 

The  bravo  gave  a  shrug. 

"'Father,'  I  said,  when  he  urged  me  to  confess,  'pray 
shrive  some  one  worthier  than  myself.  But  —  if  you  must 
needs  have  a  confession  —  I  shall  whisper  into  your  holy 
ear  so  many  interesting  little  episodes,  so  many  spicy  pecca 
dillos,  and  — to  enhance  their  interest  —  mention  some  names 
so  high  in  the  grace  of  God  — ' " 

"And  the  reverend  father?" 

"Looked  anathema  and  vanished" — 

Basil  paused  for  a  moment,  after  which  he  continued  with 
a  sigh : 


10      UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"It  is  too  late!  The  Church  is  to  be  purified.  Not  even 
the  pale  shade  of  Marozia  will  henceforth  be  permitted  to 
haunt  the  crypts  of  Castel  San  Angelo  —  merely  for  the  sake 
of  decorum.  There  is  nothing  less  well  bred  than  memory!" 

For  a  moment  they  relapsed  into  silence,  watching  the 
shifting  crowds,  then  Basil  continued : 

"Compared  with  this  virtuous  boredom  the  last  days  of 
Ugo  of  Tuscany  were  a  carnival.  One  could  at  least  speed 
the  travails  of  some  one  who  required  swift  absolution." 

"Can  you  contrive  to  bring  about  this  happy  state?"  que 
ried  II  Gobbo. 

"It  is  always  the  unexpurgated  that  happens,"  Basil  replied 
sardonically. 

"I  hope  to  advance  in  your  school,"  II  Gobbo  interposed 
with  a  smile. 

"I  have  long  had  you  in  mind.  If  you  are  in  favor  with 
yourself  you  will  become  an  apt  pupil.  Remember!  He 
who  is  dead  is  dead  and  long  live  the  survivor." 

"In  very  truth,  my  lord,  breath  is  the  first  and  last  thing 
we  draw  —  "  rejoined  the  bravo,  evidently  not  relishing  the 
thought  that  death  might  be  standing  unseen  at  his  elbow. 

"Who  would  end  one's  days  hi  odious  immaculacy,"  Basil 
interposed  grandiloquently,  "even  though  you  will  not  incur 
that  reproach  from  those  who  know  you  from  report,  or  who 
have  visited  your  haunts?  But  to  the  point.  There  are 
certain  forces  at  work  in  Rome  which  make  breathing  in 
this  fetid  air  a  rather  cumbersome  process." 

"I  doubt  me  if  they  could  teach  your  lordship  any  new 
tricks,"  II  Gobbo  replied,  somewhat  dubiously. 

The  Grand  Chamberlain  smiled  darkly. 

"Good  II  Gobbo,  the  darkest  of  my  tricks  you  have  not 
yet  fathomed." 

"Perchance  then  the  gust  of  rumor  blows  true  about  my 
lord's  palace  on  the  Pincian  Hill?" 


THE  FIRES   OF   ST.  JOHN  11 

"What  say  they  about  my  palatial  abode?"  Basil  turned 
suavely  to  the  speaker. 

There  was  something  in  the  gleam  of  his  interrogator's 
eyes  that  caused  II  Gobbo  to  hesitate.  But  his  native  inso 
lence  came  to  the  rescue  of  his  failing  courage. 

"Ask  rather,  what  do  they  not  say  of  it,  my  lord!  It 
would  require  less  time  to  recite  — " 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  just  now  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  shudder 
soundly.  These  Roman  nights,  with  their  garlic  and  incense, 
are  apt  to  befuddle  the  brain,  —  rob  it  of  its  power  to  plot. 
Perchance  the  recital  of  these  mysteries  would  bring  to 
mind  something  I  have  omitted." 

The  bravo  regarded  the  speaker  with  a  look  of  awe. 

"They  whisper  of  torture  chambers,  where  knife  and 
screw  and  pulley  never  rest  —  of  horrors  that  make  the 
blood  freeze  in  the  veins  —  of  phantoms  of  fair  women  that 
haunt  the  silent  galleries  —  strange  wails  of  anguish  that 
sound  nightly  from  the  subterranean  vaults  - 

"A  goodly  account  that  ought  vastly  to  interest  the  Grand 
Penitentiary  —  were  it  —  with  proper  decorum  —  whispered 
in  his  ear.  It  would  make  him  forget  —  for  the  time  at 
least  —  the  dirty  Roman  gossip.  Deem  you  not,  good  II 
Gobbo?" 

"I  am  not  versed  in  such  matters,  my  lord,"  replied  the 
bravo,  ill  at  ease.  "Perhaps  your  lordship  will  now  tell  me 
why  this  fondness  for  my  society?  " 

"To  confess  truth,  good  II  Gobbo,  I  did  not  join  you  merely 
to  meditate  upon  the  pleasant  things  of  life.  Rather  to  be 
inspired  to  some  extraordinary  adventure  such  as  my  hungry 
soul  yearns  for.  As  for  the  nature  thereof,  I  shall  leave 
that  to  the  notoriously  wicked  fertility  of  your  imagination." 

The  lurid  tone  of  the  speaker  startled  the  bravo. 

"  My  lord,  you  would  not  lay  hands  on  the  Lord's  anointed?" 

II  Gobbo  met  a  glance  that  made  the  blood  freeze  in  his 
veins. 


12     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"Is  it  the  thing  you  call  your  conscience  that  ails  you,  or 
some  sudden  indigestion?  Or  is  the  bribe  not  large  enough?  " 

The  bravo  doggedly  shook  his  head. 

"Courage  lieth  not  always  in  bulk,"  he  growled.  "May 
my  soul  burn  to  a  crisp  in  the  everlasting  flames  if  I  draw 
steel  against  the  Lord's  anointed." 

"  Silence, fool !  What  you  do  in  my  service  shall  not  burden 
your  soul !  Have  you  forgotten  our  compact?  " 

"That  I  have  not,  my  lord!  But  since  the  Senator  of 
Rome  has  favored  me  with  bis  especial  attention,  I  too  have 
something  to  lose,  which  some  folk  hereabout  call  their 
honor." 

"Your  honor!"  sneered  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  "It  is 
like  the  skin  of  an  onion.  Peel  off  one,  there's  another 
beneath." 

"My  skin  then  —  "  the  bravo  growled  doggedly.  "How 
ever  —  if  the  lord  Basil  will  confide  in  me  —  " 

"Pray  lustily  to  your  patron  saint  and  frequent  the  chapel 
of  the  Grand  Penitentiary,"  replied  Basil  suavely,  beckoning 
to  II  Gobbo  to  follow  him.  "But  beware,  lest  in  your  zeal 
to  confess  you  mistake  my  peccadillos  for  your  own." 

With  these  words  the  two  worthies  slowly  retraced  their 
steps  in  the  direction  of  Mount  Aventine  and  were  soon  lost 
to  sight. 


CHAPTER   II 


THE   WEAVING   OF   THE   SPELL 


FTER  they  had  disappeared 
Tristan  stood  at  gaze,  puzzled 
where  to  turn,  for  the  spectacle 
had  suddenly  changed. 

New  bands  of  revellers  had 
invaded  the  Piazza  Navona,  and 
it  seemed  indeed  as  if  the  Eve 
of  St.  John  were  assuming  the 
character  of  the  ancient  Luper- 
calia,  for  the  endless  variety  of 
costumes  displayed  by  a  multitude  assembled  from  every 
corner  of  Italy,  Spain,  Greece,  Africa,  and  the  countries  of 
the  North,  was  now  exaggerated  by  a  wild  fancifulness  and 
grotesque  variety  of  design. 

Tristan  himself  did  not  escape  the  merry  intruders.  He 
was  immediately  beset  by  importunate  revellers,  and  not 
being  able  to  make  himself  understood,  they  questioned 
and  lured  him  on,  imploring  his  good  offices  with  the  Enemy 
of  Mankind. 

Satyrs,  fauns  and  other  sylvan  creatures  accosted  him, 
diverting  their  antics,  when  they  found  themselves  but  ill 
repaid  for  their  efforts,  and  leaving  the  solitary  stranger 
pondering  the  expediency  of  remaining,  or  wending  his  steps 
toward  the  Inn  of  the  Golden  Shield,  where  he  had  taken 
lodging  upon  his  arrival. 
These  doubts  were  to  be  speedily  dispelled  by  a  spectacle 


14     UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

which  attracted  the  crowds  that  thronged  the  Piazza,  causing 
them  to  give  way  before  a  splendid  procession  that  had 
entered  the  Navona  from  the  region  of  Mount  Aventine. 

Down  the  Navona  came  a  train  of  chariots,  preceded  by 
a  throng  of  persons,  clad  in  rich  and  fantastic  Oriental  cos 
tumes,  leaping,  dancing  and  making  the  air  resound  with 
tambourines,  bells,  cymbals  and  gongs.  They  kept  up  an 
incessant  jingle,  which  sounded  weirdly  above  the  droning 
chant  of  distant  processions  of  pilgrims,  hermits  and  monks, 
traversing  the  city  from  sanctuary  to  sanctuary. 

The  occupants  of  these  chariots  consisted  of  a  number 
of  young  women  in  the  flower  of  youth  and  beauty,  whose 
scant  apparel  left  little  to  the  imagination  either  as  regarded 
their  person  or  the  trade  they  plied.  The  charioteers  were 
youths,  scarcely  arrived  at  the  age  of  puberty,  but  skilled 
in  their  profession  in  the  highest  degree. 

The  first  chariot,  drawn  by  two  milk-white  steeds  of  the 
Berber  breed,  was  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl,  with  gilded 
spokes  and  trappings  that  glistened  in  the  light  of  a  thousand 
colored  lanterns  and  torches,  like  a  vehicle  from  fairyland. 
The  reins  were  in  the  hands  of  a  youth  hardly  over  sixteen 
years  of  age,  garbed  in  a  snow  white  tunic,  but  the  skill  with 
which  he  drove  the  shell-shaped  car  through  the  surging 
crowds  argued  for  uncommon  dexterity. 

Tristan,  from  his  station  by  the  fountain,  -was  enabled  to 
take  in  every  detail  of  the  strange  pageant  which  moved 
swiftly  towards  him,  a  glittering,  fantastic  procession,  as  if 
drawn  out  of  dreamland;  and  so  enthralled  were  his  senses 
that  he  did  not  note  the  terrible  silence  which  had  suddenly 
fallen  upon  the  multitude. 

As  a  half-slumbering  man  may  note  a  sudden  brilliant 
gleam  of  sunshine  flashing  on  the  walls  of  his  chamber, 
Tristan  gazed  in  confused  bewilderment,  when  suddenly  his 
stupefied  senses  were  aroused  to  hot  life  and  pulsation,  as 
he  fixed  his  straining  gaze  on  the  supreme  fair  form  of  the 


THE  WEAVING   OF   THE   SPELL    15 

woman  in  the  first  car,  standing  erect  like  a  queen,  surveying 
her  subjects. 

In  the  silence  of  a  great  multitude  there  is  always  some 
thing  ominous.  But  Tristan  noted  it  not.  Indeed  he  was 
deaf  and  blind  to  everything,  save  the  apparition  in  the  shell- 
shaped  car,  as  it  bounded  lightly  over  the  unevenly  laid  tufa 
of  the  Navona. 

Was  it  a  woman,  or  a  goddess?  A  rainbow  flame  in 
mortal  shape,  a  spirit  of  earth,  air,  water  or  fire? 

He  saw  before  him  a  woman  combining  the  charm  of  the 
girl  with  the  maturity  of  the  thirties,  dark-haired,  exqui 
sitely  proportioned,  with  clear-cut  features  and  dark  slumbrous 
eyes. 

She  wore  a  diaphanous  robe  of  pale  silk  gauze.  Her 
wonderful  arms,  white  as  the  fallen  snow,  were  encircled 
by  triple  serpentine  coils  of  gold.  Else,  she  was  unadorned, 
save  for  a  circlet  of  rubies  which  crowned  the  dusky  head. 

Her  sombre  eyes  rested  drowsily  on  the  swarming  crowds, 
while  a  smile  of  disdain  curved  the  small  red  mouth,  as  her 
chariot  proceeded  through  the  frozen  silence. 

Suddenly  her  eye  caught  the  admiring  gaze  of  Tristan, 
who  had  indeed  forgotten  heaven  and  earth  in  the  contem 
plation  of  this  supreme st  handiwork  of  the  Creator.  A  word 
to  the  charioteer  and  the  chariot  came  to  a  stop. 

Tristan  and  the  woman  faced  each  other  in  silence,  the 
man  with  an  ill-concealed  air  of  uneasiness,  such  as  one 
may  experience  who  finds  himself  face  to  face  with  some 
unknown  danger. 

With  utter  disregard  for  the  gaping  crowds  which  had 
gathered  around  the  fountain  she  bent  her  gaze  upon  him, 
surveying  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  spoke  at  last,  and  he,  confused, 
bewildered,  trembling,  gazed  into  the  woman's  supremely 
fair  face  and  stammered: 

"A  pilgrim!" 


16     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Her  lips  parted  in  a  smile  that  revealed  two  rows  of  small 
white,  even  teeth.  There  was  something  unutterable  in 
that  smile  which  brought  the  color  to  Tristan's  brow. 

"A  Roman?" 

"From  the  North!" 

"Why  are  you  here?" 

"For  the  salvation  of  my  soul!" 

He  blushed  as  he  spoke. 

Again  the  strange  smile  curved  the  woman's  lips,  again 
the  inscrutable  look  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"For  the  salvation  of  your  soul!"  she  repeated  slowly 
after  him.  "And  you  so  young  and  fair.  Ah!  You  have 
done  some  little  wickedness,  no  doubt?" 

He  started  to  reply,  but  she  checked  him  with  a  wave  of 
her  hand. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  be  told.     Do  you  repent?" 

Tristan's  throat  was  dry.  His  lips  refused  utterance.  He 
nodded  awkwardly. 

"So  much  the  worse!  These  little  peccadillos  are  the 
spice  of  life !  What  is  your  name?" 

She  repeated  it  lingeringly  after  him. 

"From  the  North  —  you  say  —  to  do  penance  in  Rome!" 

She  watched  him  with  an  expression  of  amusement.  When 
he  started  back  from  her,  a  strange  fear  in  his  heart,  a  wave 
of  her  hand  checked  him. 

"Let  me  whisper  a  secret  to  you!"  she  said  with  a  smile. 

He  felt  her  perfumed  breath  upon  his  cheek. 

Inclining  his  ear  he  staggered  away  from  her  dizzy,  be 
wildered. 

Presently,  with  a  dazzling  smile,  she  extended  one  white 
hand  and  Tristan,  trembling  as  one  under  a  spell,  bent  over 
and  kissed  it.  He  felt  the  soft  pressure  of  her  fingers  and 
his  pulse  throbbed  with  a  strange,  insidious  fire,  as  reluc 
tantly  he  released  it  at  last. 

Raising  his  eyes,  he  now  met  her  gaze,  absorbing  into 


THE  WEAVING  OF   THE   SPELL    17 

his  innermost  soul  the  mesmeric  spell  of  her  beauty,  drink 
ing  in  the  warmth  of  those  dark,  sleepy  orbs  that  flashed 
on  him  half  resentfully,  half  mockingly.  Then  the  charioteer 
jerked  up  the  reins,  the  chariot  began  to  move.  Like  a 
dream  the  pageant  vanished  —  and  slowly,  like  far-away 
thunder,  the  voice  of  the  multitudes  began  to  return,  as  they 
regarded  the  lone  pilgrim  with  mingled  doubt,  fear  and 
disdain. 

With  a  start  Tristan  looked  about.  He  was  as  one  be 
witched.  He  felt  he  must  follow  her  at  all  risks,  ascertain 
her  name,  her  abode. 

Dashing  through  the  crowds  that  gave  way  before  him, 
wondering  and  commenting  upon  the  unseemly  haste  of  one 
wearing  so  austere  a  garb,  Tristan  caught  a  last  glimpse  of 
the  procession  as  it  entered  the  narrow  gorge  that  lies  between 
Mount  Testaccio  and  Mount  Aventine. 

With  a  sense  of  great  disappointment  he  slowly  retraced 
his  steps,  walking  as  hi  the  thrall  of  a  strange  dream,  and, 
after  inquiring  the  direction  of  his  inn  of  some  wayfarers 
he  chanced  to  meet,  he  at  last  reached  the  Inn  of  the 
Golden  Shield,  situated  near  the  Flaminian  Gate,  and  entered 
the  great  guest-chamber. 

The  troubled  light  of  a  melancholy  dusk  was  enhanced 
by  the  glimmer  of  stone  lamps  suspended  from  the  low  and 
dirty  ceiling. 

Notwithstanding  the  late  hour,  the  smoky  precincts  were 
crowded  with  guests  from  many  lands,  who  were  discussing 
the  events  of  the  day.  If  Tristan's  wakeful  ear  had  been 
alive  to  the  gossip  of  the  tavern  he  might  have  heard  the 
incident  in  the  Navona,  in  which  he  played  so  prominent  a 
part,  discussed  hi  varied  terms  of  wonder  and  condemnation. 

Tristan  took  his  seat  near  an  alcove  usually  reserved  for 
guests  of  state.  The  unaccustomed  scene  began  to  exercise 
a  singular  fascination  upon  him,  stranger  as  he  was  among 
strangers  from  all  the  earth,  their  faces  dark  against  the 


18      UNDER  THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

darker  background  of  the  room.  Brooding  over  a  tankard 
of  Falernian  of  the  hue  of  bronze,  which  his  oily  host  had 
placed  before  him,  he  continued  to  absorb  every  detail  of 
the  animated  picture,  while  the  memory  of  his  strange  adven 
ture  dominated  his  mind. 

Tristan's  meagre  fund  of  information  was  to  be  enriched 
by  tidings  of  an  ominous  nature.  He  learned  that  the  Pontiff, 
John  XI,  was  imprisoned  in  the  Lateran  Palace,  by  his  step 
brother  Alb  eric,  the  Senator  of  Rome. 

While  this  information  came  to  him,  a  loyal  son  of  the 
Church,  as  a  distinct  shock,  Tristan  felt,  nevertheless, 
strangely  impressed  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  place.  Even 
in  the  period  of  her  greatest  decay,  Rome  seemed  still  the 
centre  of  the  universe. 

Thus  he  sat  brooding  for  hours. 

When,  with  a  start,  he  roused  himself  at  last,  he  found 
the  vast  guest-chamber  well-nigh  deserted.  The  pilgrims 
had  retired  to  their  respective  quarters,  small,  dingy  cells, 
teeming  with  evil  odors,  heat  and  mosquitoes,  and  the  oily 
Calabrian  host  was  making  ready  for  the  morrow. 

The  warmth  of  the  Roman  night  and  the  fatigue  engendered 
after  many  leagues  of  tedious  travel  on  a  dusty  road,  under 
the  scorching  rays  of  an  Italian  sky,  at  last  asserted  itself 
and,  wishing  a  fair  rest  to  his  host,  who  was  far  from  dis 
pleased  to  see  his  guest-chamber  cleared  for  the  night, 
Tristan  climbed  the  crooked  and  creaking  stairs  leading  to 
the  chamber  assigned  to  him,  which  looked  out  upon  the 
gate  of  Castello  and  the  Tiber,  where  it  is  spanned  by  the 
Bridge  of  San  Angelo. 

The  window  stood  open  to  the  night  air,  on  which  floated 
the  perfumes  from  oleander  and  almond  groves.  The  roofs 
of  the  Eternal  City  formed  a  dark,  shadowy  mass  in  the 
deep  blue  dusk,  and  the  cylindrical  masonry  of  the  Flavian 
Emperor's  Tomb  rose  ominously  against  the  deep  turquoise 
of  the  night  sky. 


THE  WEAVING   OF   THE   SPELL    19 

Soon  the  events  of  the  day  and  the  scenes  of  the  evening 
began  to  melt  into  faint  and  indistinct  memories. 

Sleep,  deep  and  tranquil,  encompassed  Tristan's  weary 
limbs,  but  in  his  dreams  the  events  of  the  evening  were 
obliterated  before  scenes  of  the  past. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  DREAM  LADY  OF  AVALON 

IKE  a  disk  of  glowing  gold  the 
sun  had  set  upon  hill  and  dale. 
The  gardens  of  Avalon  lay  wrapt 
in  the  mists  of  evening.  Like 
flowers  seemed  the  fair  women 
who  thronged  the  winding  paths. 
From  fragrant  bosquets,  borne 
on  the  wings  of  the  night  wind 
came  the  faint  sounds  of  zith- 
erns  and  lutes. 
He,  too,  was  there,  mingling  joyous,  carefree,  with  the  rest, 
gathering  the  white  roses  for  the  one  he  loved.  Dimly  he 
recalled  his  delight,  as  he  saw  her  approach  in  the  waning 
light  through  the  dim  ilex  avenue,  an  apparition  wondrous 
fair  in  the  crimson  haze  of  slowly  departing  day,  entering  his 
garden  of  dreams.  With  strangely  aching  heart  he  saw  them 
throng  about  her  in  homage  and  admiration. 

At  last  he  knelt  before  her,  kissing  the  white  hand  that 
lay  passive  within  his  own. 

How  wonderful  she  was!  Never  had  he  seen  anything 
like  her,  not  even  in  this  land  of  flowers  and  of  beautiful 
women.  Her  hah"  was  warm  as  if  the  sun  had  entered  into 
it.  Her  skin  had  the  tints  of  ivory.  The  violet  eyes  with 
the  long  drooping  lashes  seemed  to  hold  the  memories  of  a 
thousand  love  thoughts.  And  the  small,  crimson  mouth,  so 
witch-like,  so  alluring,  seemed  to  hold  out  promise  of  ful 
filment  of  dizzy  hopes  and  desires. 


DREAM   LADY  OF  AVALON        21 

"  It  is  our  golden  hour,"  she  smiled  down  at  him,  and  the 
white  fingers  twined  the  rose  in  her  hair,  wove  a  girdle  of 
blossoms  round  her  exquisite,  girlish  form. 

To  Tristan  she  seemed  an  enchantment,  an  embodied  rose. 
Never  had  he  seen  her  so  fair,  so  beautiful.  On  her  lips 
quivered  a  smile,  yet  there  was  a  strange  light  in  her  eyes, 
that  gave  him  pause,  a  light  he  had  never  seen  therein  before. 

She  beckoned  him  away  from  the  throng.  "Come  where 
the  moonlight  dreams." 

Her  smile  and  her  wonderful  eyes  were  his  beacon  light. 
He  rose  to  his  feet  and  took  her  hand.  And  away  they 
strayed  from  the  rest  of  the  crowd,  far  away  over  green 
lawns,  emerald  in  the  moonlight,  with,  here  and  there,  the 
dark  shadow  of  a  cypress  falling  across  the  silvery  bright 
ness  of  their  path.  Little  by  little  the  gardens  were  deserted. 
Fainter  and  fainter  came  the  sounds  of  lutes  and  harps. 
The  shadows  of  the  grove  now  encompassed  them,  as  silently 
they  strode  side  by  side. 

"This  is  my  Buen  Retire,"  she  spoke  at  last.  "Here  we 
may  rest  —  for  awhile  —  far  from  the  world." 

They  entered  the  rose-bower,  a  wilderness,  blossoming 
with  roses  and  hyacinths  and  fragrant  shrubs  —  a  very 
paradise  for  lovers.  — 

The  bells  of  a  remote  convent  began  to  chime.  They 
smote  the  silence  with  their  silvery  peals.  The  castle  of 
Avalon  lay  dark  in  the  distance,  shadowy  against  the  deep 
azure  of  the  night  sky. 

When  the  chimes  of  the  Angelus  had  died  away,  she  spoke. 

"How  wonderful  is  this  peace!" 

Her  tone  brought  a  sudden  chill  to  his  heart. 

As  she  moved  forward,  he  dropped  his  wealth  of  flowers 
and  held  out  his  hands  entreatingly. 

"  Dearest  Hellayne,"  he  said,  "tarry  but  a  little  longer  —  " 

She  seemed  to  start  at  his  words,  and  leaned  over  the 
back  of  the  stone  bench,  which  was  covered  with  climbing 


22     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

roses.  And  suddenly  under  this  new  light,  sad  and  silent, 
she  seemed  no  longer  his  fair  companion  of  the  afternoon, 
all  youth,  all  beauty,  all  light.  Motionless,  as  if  shadowed 
by  some  dire  foreboding,  she  stood  there  and  he  dared  not 
approach.  Once  he  raised  his  hand  to  take  her  own.  But 
something  in  her  eyes  caused  the  hand  to  fall  as  with  its 
own  weight. 

He  could  not  understand  what  stayed  him,  what  stayed 
the  one  supreme  impulse  of  his  heart.  He  did  not  under 
stand  what  checked  the  words  that  hovered  on  his  lips. 
Was  it  the  clear  pure  light  of  the  eyes  he  loved  so  well?  Was 
it  some  dark  power  he  wot  not  of? 

At  last  he  broke  through  his  restraint. 

"Hellayne  —  "he  whispered  low.  "Hellayne —  I  love 
you!" 

She  did  not  move. 

There  was  a  deep  silence. 

Then  she  answered. 

"  Oh,  why  have  you  said  the  word !  " 

What  did  she  mean?  He  cried,  trembling,  within  himself. 
And  now  he  was  no  longer  in  the  moonlit  rose-bower  in  the 
gardens  of  Avalon,  but  in  a  dense  forest.  The  trees  meet 
ing  overhead  made  a  night  so  black,  that  he  saw  nothing, 
not  even  their  gnarled  trunks. 

Hellayne  was  standing  beside  him.  A  pale  moonbeam 
flickered  through  the  interwoven  branches. 

She  pointed  to  the  castle  of  Avalon,  dim  in  the  distance. 
He  made  a. quick  forward  step  to  see  her  face.  Her  eyes 
were  very  calm. 

"Let  us  go,  Tristan!"  she  said. 

"My  answer  first,"  he  insisted,  gazing  longingly,  wistfully 
into  the  eyes  that  held  a  night  of  mystery. 

"You  have  it,"  she  said  calmly. 

"It  was  no  answer,"  he  pleaded,  "from  lover  to  lover  —  " 

"Ah!"  she  replied,  in  her  voice  a  great  weariness  which 


DREAM  LADY  OF  AVALON       23 

he  had  never  noted  before.  "But  here  are  neither  loves 
nor  lovers.  —  Look!" 

And  he  looked. 

Before  them  lay  a  colorless  and  lifeless  sea,  under  the 
arch  of  a  threatening  sky.  Across  that  sky  dark  clouds, 
with  ever-changing  shapes,  rolled  slowly,  and  presently 
condensed  into  a  vague  shadowy  form,  while  the  torpid 
waves  droned  a  muffled  and  unearthly  dirge. 

He  covered  his  eyes,  overcome  by  a  mastering  fear  of 
that  dread  shape  which  he  knew,  yet  knew  not. 

He  knelt  before  her,  took  the  hands  he  loved  so  well  into 
his  own  and  pressed  upon  them  his  fevered  lips. 

"I  do  not  understand  —  "  he  moaned. 

She  regarded  him  fixedly. 

"  I  am  another's  wife  —  " 

His  head  drooped. 

"When  my  eyes  first  met  yours  they  begged  that  my  love 
for  you  might  find  response  in  your  heart,"  he  said,  still 
holding  on  to  those  marvellous  white  hands.  "Did  you  not 
accept  my  worship?" 

She  neither  encouraged  nor  repulsed  him  by  word  or 
gesture.  And  he  covered  her  hands  with  burning  kisses. 
After  his  passionate  outburst  had  died  to  silence  she  spoke 
quietly,  tremulously. 

"Tristan,"  she  began,  and  paused  as  if  she  were  sum 
moning  courage  to  do  that  which  she  must.  "Tristan,  this 
may  not  be." 

"  I  love  you,"  he  sobbed.  "  I  love  you !  This  is  all  I 
know !  All  I  shall  ever  know.  How  can  I  support  life  with 
out  you?  heart  of  my  heart  —  soul  of  my  soul?  —  What  must 
I  do,  to  win  you  for  my  own  —  to  give  you  happiness?  " 

A  negative  gesture  came  in  response. 

"Is  sin  ever  happiness?" 

"  The  priests  say  not !    And  yet  —  our  love  is  not  sinful  —  " 

"  The  priests  say  truth."     Hellayne  interposed  calmly. 


24     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

He  felt  as  if  an  immense  darkness,  the  chaos  of  a  thou 
sand  spheres,  suddenly  encompassed  him,  threatening  to 
plunge  him  into  a  bottomless  abyss  of  despair. 

Then  he  made  a  quick  forward  step.  Her  face  was  close 
to  his.  Wide  eyes  fastened  upon  him  in  a  compelling  gaze. 

"  Tell  me ! "  he  urged,  his  own  eyes  lost  in  those  unfath 
omable  wells  of  dreams.  "  When  love  is  with  you  —  does 
aught  matter?  Does  sin  — •  discovery  —  God  himself  — 
matter!" 

With  a  frightened  cry  she  drew  back. 

But  those  steady,  questioning  eyes,  sombre,  yet  aflame, 
compelled  the  shifting  violet  orbs. 

"  Tell  me !  "  he  urged  again,  his  face  very  close  to  her  face. 

"  Naught  matters,"  she  whispered  faintly,  as  if  under  a 
spell. 

Then  her  gaze  relinquished  his,  as  she  looked  dreamily 
out  upon  the  woods.  There  was  absolute  silence,  lasting 
apace.  It  was  the  stillness  of  a  forest  where  no  birds  sing, 
no  breezes  stir.  Then  a  twig  snapped  beneath  Hellayne's 
foot.  He  had  taken  her  to  his  heart  and,  his  strong  arms 
about  her,  kissed  her  eyes,  her  mouth,  her  hair.  She  suf 
fered  his  caresses  dreamily,  passively,  her  white  arms  encir 
cling  his  neck. 

Suddenly  he  stiffened.  His  form  was  as  that  of  one  turned 
to  stone. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  forest  beneath  a  great  oak,  hooded, 
motionless,  stood  a  man.  His  eyes  seemed  like  glowing 
coals,  as  they  stared  at  them.  Hellayne  did  not  see  them, 
but  she  felt  the  tremor  that  passed  through  Tristan's  frame. 
The  mantle's  hood  was  pulled  far  down  over  the  man's  face. 
No  features  were  visible. 

And  yet  Tristan  knew  that  cowled  and  muffled  form.  He 
knew  the  eyes  that  had  surprised  their  tryst. 

It  was  Count  Roger  de  Laval. 

The  muffled  shadow  was  gone  as  quickly  as  it  had  come. 


DREAM  LADY  OF  AVALON       25 

It  was  growing  ever  darker  in  the  forest,  and  when  he 
looked  up  again  he  saw  that  Hellayne's  white  roses  were 
scattered  on  the  ground.  Her  scarf  of  blue  samite  had 
fallen  heedlessly  beside  them.  He  lifted  it  and  pressed  it 
to  his  lips. 

"  Will  you  give  it  to  me?  "  he  said  tremulously.  "  That 
it  may  be  with  me  always  —  " 

There  was  no  immediate  response. 

At  last  she  said  slowly : 

"  You  shall  have  it  —  a  parting  gift  —  " 

He  seized  her  hands.    They  lay  passively  within  his  own. 

There  was  a  great  fear  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  understand  —  " 

She  loosened  the  roses  from  her  hair  and  garb  before  she 
made  reply.  Silently,  like  dead  leaves  hi  autumn,  the 
fragrant  petals  dropped  one  by  one  to  earth.  Hellayne 
watched  them  with  weary  eyes  as  they  drifted  to  their  sleep, 
then,  as  she  held  the  last  spray  hi  her  hand,  gazing  upon  it 
she  said: 

"  When  you  gave  them  to  me,  Tristan,  they  were  sweet 
and  fresh,  the  fairest  you  could  find.  Now  they  have  faded, 
perished,  died  —  " 

He  started  to  plead,  to  protest,  to  silence  her,  but  she  con 
tinued  : 

"Ah!    Can   you    not   see?    Can   you    not    understand? 

Perchance,"  she  added  bitterly,  "  I  was  created  to  adorn 

the  fleeting  June  afternoon  of  your  life,  and  when  this  scarf 

is  torn  and  faded  as  these  flowers,  let  the  wind  carry  it  away, 

—  like  these  dead  petals  at  our  feet  — •  " 

She  let  fall  the  withered  spray,  but  he  snatched  it  ere  it 
touched  the  ground. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  stammered  passionately.  "  I  love  you! 
Love  you  as  no  woman  was  ever  loved.  You  are  my  world 
—  my  fate  —  Hellayne !  Hellayne !  Know  you  what  you 
say?  "  — 


26  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

She  gazed  at  him,  with  eyes  from  which  all  life  had  fled. 

"  I  am  another's,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I  have  sinned  in 
loving  you,  in  giving  to  you  my  soul.  And  even  as  you  stood 
there  and  held  me  in  your  arms,  it  flashed  upon  me,  like  light 
ning  hi  a  dark  stormy  night  —  I  saw  the  abyss,  at  the  brink 
of  which  we  stand,  both,  you  and  I."  - 

"  But  we  have  done  no  wrong  —  we  have  not  sinned,"  he 
protested  wildly. 

She  silenced  him  with  a  gesture  of  her  beautiful  hands. 

"  Who  may  command  the  waters  of  the  cataract,  go  here, 

—  or  go  there?    Who  may  tell  them  to  return  to  their  lawful 

bed?    I  have  neither  power  nor   strength,   to   resist  your 

pleading.     You  have  been  life  and  love  to  me,  all,  —  all,  — 

and  all  this  you  are  to-day.    And  therefore  must  we  part, 

-part,  ere  it  be  too  late  — "  she  concluded  with  a  wild  cry 

of  anguish,  "  ere  we  are  both  engulfed  hi  the  darkness."  — 

And  he  fell  at  her  feet  as  if  stunned  by  a  thunderbolt. 

"  Do  not  send  me  away  —  "  he  pleaded,  his  voice  choked 
with  anguish.  "  Do  not  send  me  from  you." 

"  You  will  go,"  she  said  softly,  deaf  to  his  prayers.  "  It 
is  the  supreme  test  of  your  love,  great  as  I  know  it  is." 

"  But  I  cannot  leave  you,  I  cannot  go,  never  to  see  you 
more  —  "  and  he  grasped  the  cool  white  hands  of  the  woman 
as  a  drowning  man  will  grasp  a  straw. 

She  did  not  attempt,  for  the  time,  to  take  them  from  him. 
She  looked  down  upon  him  wistfully. 

"  Would  you  make  me  the  mock  of  Avalon?  "  she  said. 
"  Once  my  lord  suspects  we  are  lost.  And,  I  fear,  he  does 
even  now.  For  his  gaze  has  been  dark  and  troubled.  And 
I  cannot,  will  not,  expose  you  to  his  cruelty.  You  know  him 
not  as  I  do  —  " 

"  Even  therefore  will  I  not  leave  you,"  he  interposed, 
looking  into  the  sweet  face.  "  He  has  not  been  kind  to 
you.  His  pride  was  flattered  by  your  ready  surrender,  and 
your  great  beauty  is  but  one  of  the  many  dishes  that  go  to 


DREAM   LADY   OF  AVALON       27 

satiate  his  varied  appetites.  Of  the  others  you  know 
naught  —  " 

She  gave  a  shrug. 

"  If  it  be  so,"  she  said  wearily,  "  so  let  it  be.  Neverthe 
less,  I  know  whereof  I  speak.  This  thing  has  stolen  over  us 
like  a  madness.  And,  like  a  madness,  it  will  hurl  us  to  our 
doom." 

Though  he  had  seen  the  dark,  glowering  face  among  the 
branches,  he  said  nothing,  not  to  alarm  her,  not  to  cause  her 
fear  and  misgiving.  He  loved  her  spotless  purity  as  dearly 
as  herself.  To  him  they  were  inseparable. 

His  head  fell  forward  on  her  hands.  Her  fingers  played 
in  his  soft  brown  hair. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do?  "  he  said,  his  voice  choked 
by  his  anguish. 

"  Go  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  to  obtain  forgiveness,  as  I 
shall  visit  the  holy  shrines  of  Mont  Beliard  and  do  likewise," 
she  said,  steadying  her  voice  with  an  effort.  "  Let  us  forget 
that  we  have  ever  met  —  that  we  have  ever  loved,  —  or 
remember  that  we  loved  —  a  dream."  - 

"  Can  love  forget  so  readily?  "  he  said,  bitter  anguish  and 
reproach  in  his  tones. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  is  my  fate,  —  for  better  —  or  worse  —  no  matter  what 
befall.  As  for  you  —  life  lies  before  you.  Love  another, 
happier  woman,  one  that  is  free  to  give  —  and  to  receive. 
As  for  me  —  " 

She  paused  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Wbat  will  you  do? "  he  cried  in  his  over-mastering 
anguish. 

A  faint,  far-off  voice  made  reply. 

"  I  shall  do  that  which  I  must!  " 

He  staggered  away  from  her.  She  should  not  see  the 
scalding  tears  that  coursed  down  his  cheeks.  But,  as  he 
turned,  he  again  saw  the  dark  and  glowering  face,  the  brow 


28     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

gloomy  as  a  thunder-cloud,  of  the  Count  de  Laval.  But 
again  it  was  not  he.  It  was  the  black-garbed,  lithe  stranger, 
the  companion  of  the  hunchback,  who  was  regarding  Hellayne 
with  evil,  leering  eyes. 

He  wanted  to  cry  out,  warn  her,  entreat  her  to  fly.  — 

But  it  was  too  late. 

Like  a  bird  that  watches  spellbound  the  approach  of  the 
shake,  Hellayne  stood  pale  and  trembling  —  her  cheeks 
white  as  death  —  her  eyes  riveted  on  the  evil  shape  that 
seemed  the  fiend.  But  he,  Tristan,  also  was  encompassed  by 
the  same  spell.  He  could  not  move  —  he  could  not  cry  out. 
With  a  bound,  swift  and  noiseless  as  the  panther's,  he  saw 
the  sinewy  stranger  hurl  himself  upon  Hellayne,  picking  her 
up  like  a  feather  and  disappear  in  the  gloom  of  the  forest. 

With  a  cry  of  horror,  bathed  from  head  to  foot  in  perspi 
ration,  Tristan  started  from  his  slumber. 

The  moonbeams  flooded  the  chamber.  The  soft  breeze 
of  the  summer  night  stole  through  the  open  casement. 

With  a  moan  as  of  mortal  pain  he  sat  up  and  looked 
about. 

Was  he  indeed  in  Rome? 

Had  it  been  but  a  dream,  this  echo  of  the  past,  this  visual 
ized  parting  from  the  woman  he  had  loved  better  than 
life? 

Was  he  indeed  in  Rome,  to  do  as  she  had  bid  him  do, 
not  in  the  misty,  flower-scented  rose-gardens  of  Avalon  in 
far  Provence?  — 

And  she  —  Hellayne  —  where  was  she  at  this  hour? 

Tristan  stroked  his  clammy  brow  with  a  hot,  dry  hand. 
For  a  moment  the  memories  evoked  by  the  magic  wand 
of  the  God  of  Sleep  seemed  to  banish  all  consciousness 
of  the  present.  He  cast  a  fleeting,  bewildered  glance  at 
the  dim,  distant  housetops,  then  fell  back  among  his  cush 
ions,  his  lips  muttering  the  name  of  her  who  had  filled  his 
dream  with  her  never-to-be-forgotten  presence,  wondering 


DREAM  LADY  OF  AVALON          29 

and  questioning  if  they  would  ever  meet  again.  Thus  he 
tossed  and  tossed. 

After  a  time  he  became  still. 

Once  again  consciousness  was  blotted  out  and  the  dream 
realm  reigned  supreme. 


CHAPTER   IV 


THE   WAY  OF   THE   CROSS 

T  was  late  on  the  following 
morning  when  Tristan  waked. 
The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens 
and  the  perfumes  from  a  thou 
sand  gardens  were  wafted  to  his 
nostrils.  He  looked  about  be 
wildered.  The  dream  phantoms 
of  the  night  still  held  his  senses 
captive,  and  it  was  some  time 
ere  he  came  to  a  realization  of 
the  present.  In  the  dream  of  the  night  he  had  lived  over  a 
scene  in  the  past,  conjuring  back  the  memory  of  one  who 
had  sent  him  on  the  Way  of  the  Cross.  The  pitiless  rays 
of  the  Roman  sun,  which  began  to  envelop  the  white  houses 
and  walls,  brought  with  them  the  realization  of  the  present 
hour.  He  had  come  to  Rome  to  do  penance,  to  start  life 
anew  and  to  forget.  So  she  had  bade  him  do  on  that  never- 
to-be  forgotten  eve  of  their  parting.  So  she  had  willed  it, 
and  he  had  obeyed. 

How  it  all  flooded  back  to  him  again  in  waves  of  anguish, 
the  memory  of  those  days  when  the  turrets  of  Avalon  had 
faded  from  his  aching  sight,  when,  together  with  a  motley 
pilgrims'  throng,  he  had  tramped  the  dusty  sun-baked  road, 
dead  to  all  about  him  save  the  love  that  was  cushioned  in 
his  heart.  How  that  parting  from  Hellayne  still  dominated 
all  other  events,  even  though  life  and  the  world  had  fallen 
away  from  him  and  he  had  only  prayer  for  oblivion,  for 
obliteration. 


THE  WAY   OF   THE   CROSS        31 

Yet  even  Hellayne's  inexorable  decree  would  not  have 
availed  to  speed  him  on  a  pilgrimage  so  fraught  with  hope 
lessness,  that  during  all  that  long  journey  Tristan  hardly 
exchanged  word  or  greeting  with  his  fellow  pilgrims.  It 
was  her  resolve,  unfalteringly  avowed,  to  leave  the  world 
and  enter  a  convent,  if  he  refused  to  obey,  which  had  event 
ually  compelled.  Her  own  self-imposed  penance  should 
henceforth  be  to  live,  lonely  and  heartbroken,  by  the  side 
of  an  unbeloved  consort,  while  Tristan  atoned  far  away,  in 
the  city  of  the  popes,  at  the  shrines  of  the  saints. 

At  night,  when  Tristan  retired,  at  dawn,  when  he  arose, 
Hellayne's  memory  was  with  him,  and  every  league  that 
increased  the  distance  between  them  seemed  to  heighten 
his  love  and  his  anguish.  But  human  endurance  has  its 
limits,  and  at  last  he  was  seized  by  a  great  torpor,  a  chill 
indifference  that  swept  away  and  deadened  every  other 
feeling.  There  was  no  longer  a  To-day,  no  longer  a  Yes 
terday,  no  longer  a  To-morrow. 

Such  was  Tristan's  state  of  mind,  when  from  the  Tiburtine 
road  he  first  sighted  the  walls  and  towers  of  Rome,  without 
definite  purpose  or  aim,  drawn  along,  as  it  were,  towards 
an  uncertain  goal  by  Fate's  invisible  hand.  Utterly  indif 
ferent  as  to  what  might  befall  among  the  Seven  Hills,  he 
was  at  times  dimly  conscious  of  a  presentiment  that  ulti 
mately  he  would  end  up  his  own  days  in  one  of  those  silent 
places  where  all  earthly  hopes  and  desires  are  forever  stilled. 
So  much  was  clear  to  him.  Like  the  rest  of  the  pilgrims 
who  had  wended  their  way  to  St.  Peter's  seat,  he  would 
complete  the  circuit  of  the  holy  shrines,  kiss  the  feet  of  the 
Father  of  Christendom,  do  such  penance  as  the  Pontiff 
should  impose,  and  then  attach  himself  to  one  party  or  an 
other  in  the  pontifical  city  which  held  out  hope  for  action, 
since  the  return  to  his  own  native  land  was  barred  to  him 
for  evermore. 

How  he  would  bear  up  under  the  ordeal  he  did  not  know. 


32     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

How  he  would  support  life  away  from  Hellayne,  without  a 
word,  a  message,  without  the  assurance  that  all  was  well 
with  her,  whether  now,  his  own  fate  accomplished,  others 
thronged  about  her  hi  love  and  adulation, —  he  knew  not. 

For  the  nonce  he  was  resolved  to  let  new  scenes,  new 
impressions  sweep  away  the  great  void  of  an  aching  heart, 
lighten  the  despair  that  filled  his  soul. 

In  approaching  the  Eternal  City  he  had  felt  scarcely  any 
of  the  elevation  of  spirit  which  has  affected  so  many  devout 
pilgrims.  He  knew  it  was  the  seat  of  God's  earthly  Vice- 
regent,  the  capital  of  the  universal  kingdom  of  the  Church. 
He  reminded  himself  of  this  and  of  the  priceless  relics  it 
contained,  the  tombs  of  the  Apostles  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul, 
the  tombs  of  so  many  other  martyrs,  pontiffs  and  saints. 

But  in  spite  of  all  these  memories  he  drew  near  the  place 
with  a  sinking  dread,  as  if,  by  some  instinct  of  premonition, 
he  felt  himself  dragged  to  the  Cross  on  which  at  last  he  was 
to  be  crucified. 

Many  a  pilgrim  may  have  seen  Rome  for  the  first  time 
with  an  involuntary  recollection  of  her  past,  with  the  hope 
that  for  him,  too,  the  future  might  hold  the  highest  greatness. 

Certainly  no  ambitious  fancy  cast  a  halo  of  romantic  hope 
over  the  great  city  as  Tristan  first  saw  her  ancient  walls. 
He  felt  safe  enough  from  any  danger  of  greatness.  He 
had  nothing  to  recommend  him.  On  the  contrary,  some 
thing  hi  his  character  would  only  serve  to  isolate  him,  cre 
ating  neither  admiration  nor  sympathy. 

All  the  weary  road  to  Rome,  the  Rome  he  dreaded,  had 
he  prayed  for  courage  to  cast  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  Vicar 
of  Christ.  He  did  not  think  then  of  the  Pope,  as  of  one  of 
the  great  of  the  earth,  but  simply  as  of  one  who  stood  in 
the  world  in  God's  place.  So  he  would  have  courage  to 
seek  him,  confess  to  him  and  ask  him  what  it  was  it  behooved 
him  to  do. 

Thus  he  had  walked  on  —  with  stammering  steps,  bruising 


THE  WAY  OF   THE   CROSS         33 

his  feet  against   stones,   tearing  himself  through  briars  — 
heeding  nothing  by  the  way. 

And  now,  the  journey  accomplished,  he  was  here  in  supreme 
loneliness,  without  guidance,  human  or  divine,  thrown  upon 
himself,  not  knowing  how  to  still  the  pain,  how  to  fill  the 
void  of  an  aching  heart. 

Would  the  light  of  Truth  come  to  him  out  of  the  encom 
passing  realms  of  Doubt? 

When  Tristan  descended  into  the  great  guest-chamber 
he  found  it  almost  deserted.  The  pilgrims  had  set  out 
early  in  the  day  to  begin  their  devotions  before  the  shrines. 
The  host  of  the  Golden  Shield  placed  before  his  sombre 
and  silent  guest  such  viands  as  the  latter  found  most  pala 
table,  consisting  of  goat's  milk,  stewed  lamb,  barley  bread 
and  figs,  and  Tristan  did  ample  justice  to  the  savory  repast. 

The  heat  of  the  day  being  intense,  he  resolved  to  wait 
until  the  sun  should  be  fairly  on  his  downward  course  before 
he  started  out  upon  his  own  business,  a  resolution  which 
was  strengthened  by  a  suggestion  from  the  host,  that  few 
ventured  abroad  in  Rome  during  the  Siesta  hours,  the  Roman 
fever  respecting  neither  rank  nor  garb. 

Thus  Tristan  composed  himself  to  patience,  watching 
the  host  upon  his  duties,  and  permitting  his  gaze  to  roam 
now  and  then  through  the  narrow  windows  upon  the  object 
he  had  first  encountered  upon  his  arrival:  the  brown  citadel, 
drowsing  unresponsive  in  the  noon-tide  glow,  a  monument 
of  mystery  and  dark  deeds,  the  Mausoleum  of  the  Flavian 
Emperor  —  or,  as  it  was  styled  at  the  period  of  our  story, 
the  Castle  of  the  Archangel. 

From  this  stronghold,  less  than  a  decade  ago,  a  woman 
had  lorded  it  over  the  city  of  Rome,  as  renowned  for  her 
evil  beauty  as  for  the  profligacy  and  licentiousness  of  her 
court.  In  time  her  regime  had  been  swept  away,  yet  there 
were  rumors,  dark  and  sinister,  of  one  who  had  succeeded 
to  her  evil  estate.  None  dared  openly  avow  it,  but  Tristan 


34     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

had  surprised  guarded  whispers  during  his  long  journey. 
Some  accounted  her  a  sorceress,  some  a  thing  wholly  evil, 
some  the  precursor  of  the  Anti-Christ.  And  he  had  never 
ceased  to  wonder  at  the  tales  which  enlivened  the  camp- 
fires,  the  reports  of  her  beauty,  her  daring,  her  unscrupulous 
ambition. 

On  the  whole,  Tristan's  prospects  in  Rome  seemed  barren 
enough.  Service  might  perchance  be  obtained  with  the 
Senator,  who  would  doubtlessly  welcome  a  stout  arm  and  a 
true  heart.  This  alternative  failing,  Tristan  was  utterly  at 
sea  as  to  what  he  would  do,  the  prescribed  rounds  of  obedi 
ences  before  the  shrines  and  the  penances  accomplished. 
He  felt  as  one  who  has  lost  his  purpose  in  life,  even  before 
he  had  been  conscious  of  his  goal. 

The  strange  incidents  of  his  first  night  in  Rome  had  grad 
ually  faded  from  Tristan's  mind  with  the  re-awakening 
memory  of  Hellayne,  never  once  forgotten,  but  for  the  moment 
drowned  in  the  deluge  of  strange  events  that  had  almost 
swept  him  off  his  feet. 

As  the  sun  was  veering  towards  the  west  and  the  length 
ening  shadows,  presaging  dusk,  began  to  roll  down  from  the 
hills  it  suffered  Tristan  no  longer  in  the  Inn  of  the  Golden 
Shield.  He  strode  out  and  made  for  the  heart  of  Rome. 

The  desolate  aspect  of  high-noon  had  changed  materially. 
Tristan  began  to  note  the  evidences  of  life  in  the  Pontifical 
City.  Merchants,  beggars,  monks,  men-at-arms,  condottieri, 
sbini,  —  the  followers  of  the  great  feudal  houses,  hurried  to 
and  fro,  bent  upon  their  respective  pursuits,  and  above  them, 
silent  and  fateful  in  the  evening  glow,  towered  the  Arch 
angel's  Castle,  the  tomb  of  a  former  Master  of  the  World. 
It  reared  its  massive  honey-colored  bulk  on  the  edge  of  the 
yellow  Tiber  and  beyond  rose  the  dark  green  cypresses  of 
the  Pincian  Hill.  Innumerable  spires,  domes,  pinnacles 
and  towers  rose,  red-litten  by  the  sunset,  into  the  stilly 
evening  air.  Bells  were  softly  tolling  and  a  distant  hum  like 


THE  WAY  OF  THE   CROSS         35 

the  bourdon  note  of  a  great  organ,  rose  up  from  the  other  side 
of  the  Tiber,  where  the  multitudes  of  the  Eternal  City  trod 
the  dust  of  the  Caesars  into  the  churches  of  the  Cross. 

Interminable  processions  traversed  the  city  amidst  anthems 
and  chants,  for,  on  this  day,  masses  were  being  sung  and 
services  offered  up  in  the  Lateran  Basilica,  the  Mother  Church 
of  Rome,  in  honor  of  Him  who  cried  in  the  wilderness. 

In  silent  awe  and  wonder  Tristan  pursued  his  way  towards 
the  heart  of  the  city.  And,  as  he  did  so,  the  spectacle  which 
had  unfolded  itself  to  his  gaze  became  more  varied  and  man 
ifold  on  every  turn. 

The  lone  pilgrim  could  not  but  admit  that  the  shadows  of 
worldly  empire,  which  had  deserted  her,  still  clung  to  Rome 
in  her  ruins,  even  though  to  him  the  desolation  which  dom 
inated  all  sides  had  but  a  vague  and  dreamlike  meaning. 

Even  at  this  period  of  deepest  darkness  and  humiliation 
the  world  still  converged  upon  Rome,  and  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  web  sat  the  successor  of  St.  Peter,  the  appointed  guard 
ian  of  Heaven  and  Earth. 

The  chief  pagan  monuments  still  existed:  the  Pantheon 
of  Agrippa  and  the  Septizonium  of  Alexander  Severus;  the 
mighty  remains  of  the  ancient  fanes  about  the  Forum  and  the 
stupendous  ruins  of  the  Colosseum.  But  among  them  rose 
the  fortress  towers  of  the  Roman  nobles.  Right  there,  before 
him,  dominating  the  narrow  thoroughfare,  rose  the  great 
fortress  pile  of  the  Frangipani,  behind  the  Arch  of  the  Seven 
Candles.  Farther  on  the  Tomb  of  Csecilia  Metella  presented 
an  aspect  at  once  sinister  and  menacing,  transformed  as  it 
now  was  into  the  stronghold  of  the  Cenci,  while  the  Caetani 
castle  on  the  opposite  side  attracted  a  sort  of  wondering 
attention  from  him. 

This  then  was  the  Rome  of  which  he  had  heard  such  mar 
velous  tales!  The  city  of  palaces,  basilicas  and  shrines  had 
sunk  to  this!  Her  magnificent  thoroughfares  had  become 
squalid  streets,  her  monuments  were  crumbled  and  forgotten, 


36     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

or  worse,  they  were  abused  by  every  lawless  wretch  who 
cared  to  seize  upon  them  and  build  thereon  his  fortress  or 
palace.  A  dismal  fate  indeed  to  have  fallen  to  the  former 
mistress  of  the  world !  Far  better,  he  thought,  to  be  deserted 
and  forgotten  utterly,  like  many  a  former  seat  of  empire,  far 
better  to  be  overgrown  with  grass  and  dock  and  nettle,  to  be 
left  to  dream  and  oblivion  than  to  survive  in  low  estate  as  had 
this  city  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber. 

With  these  reflections,  engendered  no  less  by  the  air  of 
desolation  than  by  the  occasional  appearance  of  armed 
bands  of  feudal  soldiery  who  hurled  defiance  at  each  other, 
Tristan  found  himself  drawn  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
heart  of  Rome,  a  hotbed  of  open  and  silent  rebellion  against 
the  rule  of  any  one  who  dared  to  lord  it  over  the  degenerate 
descendants  of  the  former  masters  of  the  world.  Here  repre 
sentatives  of  the  nations  of  all  the  earth  jostled  one  another 
and  the  poor  dregs  of  Romulus;  or  peoples  of  wilder  aspect 
from  Persia  or  Egypt,  within  whose  mind  floated  mysterious 
Oriental  wisdom,  bequeathed  from  the  dawn  of  Time.  And 
as  the  scope  of  Tristan's  observation  widened,  the  demon  of 
disillusion  unfolded  gloomy  wings  over  the  far  horizon  of  his 
soul.  And  the  Tiber  rolled  calmly  on  below,  catching  in  its 
turbid  waves  the  golden  sunset  glow. 

Now  and  then  he  encountered  the  armed  retinue  of  some 
feudal  baron  clattering  along  the  narrow  ill-paved  streets, 
chasing  pedestrians  into  adjacent  doorways  and  porticoes  and 
pursuing  their  precipitate  retreat  with  outbursts  of  banter 
and  mirth. 

Unfamiliar  as  Tristan  was  with  the  factions  that  usurped 
the  dominion  of  the  Seven  Hills,  the  escutcheons  and  coats- 
of-arms  of  these  marauding  parties  meant  little  to  him.  Now 
and  then  however  it  would  chance  that  two  rival  factions 
clashed,  each  disputing  the  other's  passage.  Then,  only,  did 
he  become  alive  to  the  dangers  that  beset  the  unwary  in  the 
city  of  the  Pontiff,  and  a  sudden  spirit  of  recklessness  and 


THE  WAY  OF  THE   CROSS          37 

daring,  born  of  the  moment,  prompted  the  desire  to  plunge 
into  this  seething  vortex,  if  but  to  purchase  temporary  oblivion 
and  relief. 

He  faced  the  many  dangers  of  the  streets,  loitering  here 
and  there  and  curiously  eyeing  all  things,  and  would  even 
tually  have  lost  himself,  when  the  mantle  of  night  began  to 
fall  on  the  Seven  Hills,  had  he  not  instinctively  remarked 
that  the  ascending  road  removed  him  from  the  river. 


CHAPTER  V 


ON   THE   AVENTINE 

HEN  Tristan  at  last  regained 
his  bearings,  he  found  himself 
among  the  convents  and  clois 
ters  on  Mount  Aventine.  His 
eyes  rested  wearily  on  the  eddy 
ing  gleam  of  the  Tiber  as  it 
wound  its  coils  round  the  base 
of  the  Mount  of  Cloisters,  thence 
they  roamed  among  the  grass 
and  weed-grown  ruins  of  ancient 
temples  and  crumbling  porticoes,  which  rose  on  all  sides  in 
the  silent  desolation. 

Just  then  a  last  gleam  of  the  disappearing  sun  touched  the 
bronze  figure  of  the  Archangel  on  the  summit  of  Castel  San 
Angelo,  imbuing  it  for  an  instant  with  a  weird  effect,  as  though 
the  ghost  of  some  departed  watchman  were  waving  a  lighted 
torch  aloft  in  the  heavens.  Then  the  glow  faded  before  a 
dead  grey  twilight,  which  settled  solemnly  over  the  mel 
ancholy  landscape. 

The  full  moon  was  rising  slowly.  Round  and  large  she 
hung,  like  a  yellow  shield,  on  the  dark,  dense  wall  of  the 
heavens.  In  the  distance  the  faint  outlines  of  the  Alban 
Hills  and  the  snow-capped  summit  of  Monte  Soracte  were 
faintly  discernible  in  the  night  mists.  In  the  background 
the  ill-famed  ruins  of  the  ancient  temple  of  Isis  rose  into 
the  purple  dusk.  The  Tiber,  in  the  light  of  the  higher  rising 


ONTHEAVENTINE  39 

moon,  gleamed  like  a  golden  ribbon.  The  gaunt  masonry 
of  the  Septizonium  of  Alexander  Severus  was  dimly  rimmed 
with  light,  and  streaks  of  amber  radiance  were  wandering 
up  and  down  the  shadowy  slopes  of  the  Mount  of  Cloisters, 
like  sorrowing  ghosts  bound  upon  some  sorrowful  errand. 

All  sense  of  weariness  had  suddenly  left  Tristan.  A 
compelling  influence,  stronger  than  himself,  seemed  to  urge 
him  on  as  to  the  fulfillment  of  some  hidden  purpose. 

Once  or  twice  he  paused.  As  he  did  so,  he  became  aware 
of  the  extraordinary,  almost  terrible  stillness,  that  encom 
passed  him.  He  felt  it  enclosing  him  like  a  thick  wall  on 
all  sides.  Earth  and  the  ah*  seemed  breathless,  as  if  in 
the  throes  of  some  mysterious  excitement.  The  stars, 
flashing  out  with  the  brilliant  lustre  of  the  south,  were  as 
so  many  living  eyes  eagerly  gazing  down  on  the  solitary 
human  being  whose  steps  led  him  into  these  deserted  places. 
The  moon  herself  seemed  to  stare  at  him  in  open  wonder 
ment. 

At  last  he  found  himself  before  the  open  portals  of  the 
great  Church  of  Santa  Maria  of  the  Aventine.  From  the 
gloom  within  floated  the  scent  of  incense  and  the  sound 
of  chanting.  He  could  see  tapers  gleaming  on  the  high  altar 
in  the  choir.  Women  were  passing  in  and  out,  and  a  blind 
beggar  sat  at  the  gate. 

Moved  more  by  curiosity  than  the  desire  for  worship, 
Tristan  entered  and  uncovered  his  head.  The  Byzantine 
cupola  was  painted  in  vermilion  and  gold.  The  slender 
pillars  of  white  marble  were  banded  with  silver  and  inlaid 
with  many  colored  stones.  The  basins  for  holy  water  were 
of  black  marble,  their  dark  pools  gleaming  with  the  colors 
of  the  vault.  Side  chapels  opened  on  either  hand,  dim 
sanctuaries  steeped  in  mystery  of  incense-saturated  dusk. 

The  saints  and  martyrs  in  their  stiff,  golden  Byzantine 
dalmaticas  seemed  to  endow  each  relic  with  an  ah*  of  mys 
tery.  The  beauty  and  the  mystery  of  the  place  touched 


40    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Tristan's  soul.  As  in  a  haze  he  seemed  again  to  see  the 
pomp  and  splendor  of  the  sanctuaries  of  far-away,  dream- 
lost  Avalon. 

Tristan  took  his  stand  by  one  of  the  great  pillars,  and, 
setting  his  back  to  it,  looked  round  the  place.  There  were 
some  women  in  the  sanctuary,  engaged  in  prayer.  Tristan 
watched  them  with  vacant  eyes. 

Suddenly  he  became  conscious  that  one  of  these  wor 
shippers  was  not  wholly  absorbed  in  prayer  under  her 
hood.  Two  watchful  eyes  seemed  to  consider  him  with 
a  suggestiveness  that  no  man  could  mistake,  and  her  thoughts 
seemed  to  be  very  far  from  heaven. 

Once  or  twice  Tristan  started  to  leave  the  sanctuary,  but 
some  invisible  hand  seemed  to  detain  him  as  with  a  magic 
hold. 

In  due  season  the  woman  finished  her  devotions  and 
stood  with  her  hood  turned  back,  looking  at  Tristan  across 
the  church.  Her  women  had  gathered  about  her  and  out 
side  the  gates  Tristan  saw  the  spear  points  of  her  guard. 
Turning,  with  a  glance  cast  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  she 
swept  in  state  out  of  the  church,  her  women  following  her, 
all  save  one  tall  girl,  who  loitered  at  the  door. 

Suddenly  it  flashed  upon  Tristan,  as  he  stood  there  with 
his  back  leaning  against  the  pillar.  Was  not  this  the  woman 
he  had  met  by  the  fountain,  the  woman  who  had  spoken 
strange  words  to  him  in  the  Navona? 

Had  she  recognized  him?  Her  eyes  had  challenged  him 
unmistakably  when  first  they  had  met  his  own,  and  now 
again,  as  she  left  the  church.  They  puzzled  Tristan,  these 
same  eyes.  Far  in  their  depths  lurked  secrets  he  dreaded 
to  fathom.  Her  scented  garments  perfumed  the  very  aisles. 

Tristan  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  a  woman's  hand 
plucking  at  his  sleeve.  By  his  side  stood  a  tall  girl.  She 
was  very  beautiful,  but  her  eyes  were  evil.  She  looked  boldly 
at  Tristan  and  gave  her  message. 


ON  THE  AVENTINE  41 

"  Follow  my  mistress,"  were  her  words. 

Tristan  looked  at  her,  his  face  almost  invisible  in  the  gloom. 
Only  the  moonlight  touched  his  hair. 

"  Whom  do  you  serve  ?  "  he  replied. 

"  The  Lady  Theodora!  "  came  the  answer. 

Tristan's  heart  froze  within  him.  Theodora  —  the  woman 
who  had  succeeded  to  Marozia's  dread  estate ! 

In  order  to  conceal  his  emotions  he  brought  his  face  closer 
to  the  fair  messenger,  forcing  his  voice  to  appear  calm  as  he 
spoke. 

"  What  would  your  mistress  with  me?  " 

The  girl  glanced  up  at  him,  as  if  she  regarded  the  question 
strangely  superfluous. 

"  You  are  to  come  with  me ! "  she  persisted,  touching  his 
arm. 

Tristan's  mouth  hardened  as  he  considered  the  message, 
without  relinquishing  his  station  by  the  pillar. 

What  was  he  to  Theodora  —  Theodora  to  him?  She  was 
a  woman,  evil,  despite  her  ravishing  beauty,  so  he  had  gath 
ered  during  the  days  of  his  journey.  The  spell  she  had  cast 
over  him  on  the  previous  evening  had  vanished  before  the 
memory  of  Hellayne.  Her  sudden  appearance,  her  witch-like 
beauty  had,  for  the  time,  unmanned  him.  The  hardships 
and  privations  of  a  long  journey  had,  for  the  moment,  caused 
his  senses  to  run  rampant,  and  almost  hurled  him  into  the 
arms  of  perdition.  Yet  he  had  not  then  known.  And  now 
he  remembered  how  they  all  had  fallen  away  from  him,  as 
from  one  bearing  on  his  person  the  germs  of  some  dread 
disease.  The  terrible  silence  hi  the  Navona  seemed  visual 
ized  once  again  in  the  silence  which  encompassed  him  here. 
Yet  she  was  all  powerful,  so  he  had  heard.  She  ruled  the 
men  and  the  factions.  In  some  vague  way,  he  thought,  she 
might  be  of  service  to  him. 

Tossed  between  two  conflicting  impulses,  Tristan  slowly 
followed  the  girl  from  the  church  and,  crossing  the  great, 


42      UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

moonlit  court  that  lay  without,  entered  the  gardens  which 
seemed  to  divide  the  sanctuary  from  some  hidden  palace. 
Mulberry  trees  towered  above  the  lawns,  studded  with  thick, 
ripening  fruit.  Weeping  ashes  glittered  in  the  moonlight. 
Cedars  and  oaks  cast  their  shade  over  broad  beds  of  mint 
and  thyme. 

The  girl  watched  Tristan  closely,  as  she  walked  beside  him, 
making  no  effort  to  conceal  her  own  charms  before  eyes  which 
she  deemed  endowed  with  the  power  of  judgment  in  matters 
of  this  kind.  Her  mistress  had  not  put  her  trust  in  her  hi 
vain.  She  studied  Tristan's  race  hi  order  to  determine, 
whether  or  not  he  would  waver  in  his  resolve  and — she  began 
to  speak  to  him  as  they  crossed  the  gardens  with  a  simplicity, 
an  interest  that  was  well  assumed. 

"  A  good  beginning  indeed !  "  she  said.  "  You  are  in  favor, 
my  lord!  To  have  seen  her  fair  face  is  no  small  boast,  but 
to  be  summoned  to  her  presence  —  I  cannot  remember  her 
so  gracious  to  any  one,  since  — "  she  paused  suddenly, 
deliberately. 

Tristan  regarded  her  slantwise  over  his  shoulder,  without 
making  response.  At  last,  irritated,  he  knew  not  why,  he 
asked  curtly:  "  What  is  your  mistress?  " 

The  girl's  glance  wandered  over  the  great  trees  and  flowers 
that  overshadowed  the  plaisaunce. 

"  She  bears  her  mother's  name,"  she  replied  with  a  shrug, 
"  and,  like  her  mother,  the  blood  that  flows  in  her  veins  is 
mingled  with  the  fire  that  glitters  in  the  stars  in  heaven,  a 
fire  affording  neither  light  nor  heat,  but  serving  to  dazzle,  to 
bewilder.  —  I  am  but  a  woman,  but  —  had  I  your  chance  of 
fortune,  my  lord,  I  should  think  twice,  ere  I  bartered  it  for  a 
vow,  an  empty  dream." 

He  gave  her  a  swift  glance,  wondering  at  her  woman's  wit, 
yet  resenting  her  speech. 

"  You  would  prosper? "  she  queried  tentatively  at  last, 
casting  about  in  her  mind,  how  she  might  win  his  confidence. 


ON  THE  AVENTINE  43 

"  I  have  business  of  my  own,"  he  replied,  evading  her 
question. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  trembling  into  his. 

"  How  tall  and  strong  you  are!  I  could  almost  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  love  you  myself!  " 

The  flattery  seemed  so  spontaneous  that  it  would  have 
puzzled  one  possessed  of  greater  guile  than  Tristan  to  have 
uncovered  her  cunning.  Nor  was  Tristan  unwilling  to  seem 
strong  to  her;  for  the  moment  he  was  almost  tempted  to 
continue  questioning  her  regarding  her  mistress. 

"  You  may  make  your  fortune  in  Rome,"  the  girl  said  with 
a  meaning  smile. 

"  How  so?  " 

"  Are  you  blind?  Do  you  not  know  a  woman's  ways? 
My  mistress  loves  a  strong  arm.  You  may  serve  her." 

"  That  is  not  possible !  " 

The  girl  stared  at  him  and  for  the  moment  dropped  the 
mask  of  innocence. 

"  What  was  possible  once,  is  possible  again,"  she  said. 

Then  she  added: 

"  Are  you  not  ambitious?  " 

"  I  have  a  task  to  perform  that  may  not  permit  of  two 
masters!  Why  are  you  so  concerned?  " 

The  question  came  almost  abruptly. 

"  I  serve  my  lady!  "  she  said,  edging  towards  him.  "  Is  it 
so  strange  a  thing  to  serve  a  woman?  " 

They  had  left  the  garden  and  had  arrived  before  a  high 
stone  wall  that  skirted  the  precincts  of  Theodora's  palace. 
Cypresses  and  bays  raised  their  tops  above  the  stones.  Great 
cedars  cast  deep  shadows.  In  the  wall  there  was  a  door 
studded  with  heavy  iron  nails.  The  girl  took  a  key  that 
dangled  from  her  girdle,  unlocked  the  door  and  beckoned  to 
Tristan  to  enter. 

Tristan  stood  and  gazed.  In  the  light  of  the  moon  which 
drenched  all  things  he  saw  a  garden  in  which  emerald  grass 


44     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

plots  alternated  with  beds  of  strange-tinted  orchids,  flowers 
purple  and  red.  At  the  end  of  the  plaisaunce  there  opened 
an  orange  thicket  and  under  the  trees  stood  a  woman  clad  in 
crimson,  her  white  arms  bare.  She  wore  sandals  of  silver, 
and  her  dusky  hair  was  confined  in  a  net  of  gold. 

As  Tristan  was  about  to  yield  to  the  overmastering  temp 
tation  the  memory  of  Hellayne  conquered  all  other  emotions. 
He  turned  back  from  the  door  and  looked  full  into  the  girl's 
dark  eyes. 

"  You  will  speak  to  your  mistress  for  me,"  he  said  to  her, 
casting  a  swift  glance  into  the  moonlit  garden. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled  air,  but  did  not  stir. 

"  What  am  I  to  say  to  her?  "  she  said. 

"  That  I  will  not  enter  these  gates!  " 

"  You  will  not?  " 

"  No ! "    He  snapped  curtly. 

"  Fool!    How  you  will  regret  your  speech!  " 

Her  face  changed  suddenly  like  a  fickle  sky,  and  there  was 
something  in  her  eyes  too  wicked  for  words. 

Without  vouchsafing  a  reply,  Tristan  turned  and  lost  him 
self  in  the  desolation  of  Mount  Aventine. 

The  night  marched  on  majestically. 

The  moon  and  her  sister  planets  passed  through  their 
appointed  spheres  of  harmonious  light  and  law,  and  from  all 
cloisters  and  convents  prayers  went  up  to  heaven  for  pity, 
pardon  and  blessing  on  sinful  humanity  that  had  neither  pity, 
pardon  nor  blessing  for  itself,  till,  with  magic  suddenness, 
the  dense  purple  skies  changed  to  a  pearly  grey,  the  moon 
sank  pallidly  beneath  the  earth's  dark  rim  and  the  stars  were 
extinguished  one  by  one. 

Morning  began  to  herald  its  approach  in  the  freshening 
air. 

Tristan  still  slept  on  his  improvised  couch,  a  marble  slab 
he  had  chosen  when  he  discovered  that  he  had  lost  his  way 
in  the  wilderness  of  the  Aventine.  His  head  on  his  arm  he 


ON   THE  AVENTINE  45 

lay  quite  still  among  the  flowers,  wrapt  in  a  sort  of  dizzy 
delirium  in  which  the  forms  of  Theodora  and  Hellayne 
strangely  intermingled,  until  the  riddles  of  life  were  blotted 
out  together  with  the  riddles  of  Fate. 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE    COUP 


RISTAN  spent  the  greater  part 
of  the  day  visiting  the  churches 
and  sanctuaries,  offering  up 
prayers  for  oblivion  and  peace. 
His  heart  was  heavy  within  him. 
Like  the  stray  leaf  that  has  been 
torn  from  its  native  branch  and 
flutters  resistlessly,  aimlessly 
hither  and  thither,  at  the  mercy 
of  the  chance  breeze,  nevermore 
to  return  to  its  sheltering  bough,  so  the  lone  wanderer  felt 
himself  tossed  about  by  the  waves  of  destiny,  a  human  dere 
lict  without  a  haven  where  he  might  escape  the  storms  of  life. 
Guiltless  in  his  own  conscience  of  an  imputed  sin,  in  that 
his  love  for  Hellayne  had  been  pure  and  holy,  Tristan  could 
find  little  comfort  in  the  enforced  penance,  while  his  hungry 
heart  cried  out  for  her  who  had  so  willed  it.  And,  as  with 
weary  feet  he  dragged  himself  through  the  streets  of  the 
pontifical  city,  he  vaguely  wondered,  if  his  would  ever  be  the 
peace  of  the  goal.  In  the  darkness  in  which  he  walked,  in 
the  perturbation  of  his  mind,  he  longed  more  than  ever  to 
open  his  heart  to  some  one  who  would  understand  and  counsel 
and  guide  his  steps. 

The  Pontiff  being  a  prisoner  in  the  Lateran,  Tristan's  ardent 
wish  to  confide  in  the  successor  of  St.  Peter  had  suffered  a 
sudden  and  a  keen  disappointment.  There  were  but  Odo  of 


THECOUP  47 

Cluny,  Benedict  of  Soracte  or  the  Grand  Penitentiary,  holding 
forth  in  the  subterranean  chapel  at  St.  Peter's,  to  whom  he 
might  turn  for  ease  of  mind,  and  a  natural  reluctance  to  lay 
bare  the  holiest  thoughts  man  may  give  to  woman,  restrained 
him  for  the  nonce  from  seeking  these  channels. 

Thus  three  days  had  sped,  yet  naught  had  happened  to 
indicate  that  events  would  shape  the  course  so  ardently 
desired  by  Tristan. 

It  was  there,  on  one  of  the  terraces  crowning  the  splendid 
heights  of  immortal  Rome,  with  a  view  of  the  distant  Sabine 
and  Alban  hills,  fading  into  the  evening  dusk,  that  the  memory 
of  the  golden  days  of  Avalon  returned  to  him  hi  waves  of 
anguish  that  almost  mastered  his  resolve  to  begin  life  anew 
under  conditions  that  seemed  insupportable. 

Again  Hellayne  was  by  his  side,  as  hi  dream-forgotten 
Avalon.  Again  side  by  side  they  wandered  where  the  shat 
tered  columns  of  old  grey  temples,  all  that  remained  of  a 
sunny  Greek  civilization  of  which  they  knew  nothing,  crowned 
the  heights  above  the  lazy  lapping  waves  of  the  tideless 
Tyrrhenian  sea.  There,  for  whole  hours  would  they  sit,  the 
air  full  of  the  scent  of  orange  and  myrtle ;  under  almond  trees, 
covered  with  blossoms  that  sprinkled  the  emerald  ground 
like  rosy  snowflakes,  and  watch  the  white  sails  of  the  far 
feluccas  that  trailed  the  waves  in  monotonous  rhythm  to  or 
from  the  sunlit  shores  of  Africa.  The  distant  headlands 
looked  faint  and  dreamy,  and  the  sparkling  sea  broke,  gur 
gling,  foaming  among  the  rocks  at  their  feet,  as  it  had  broken 
at  the  feet  of  other  lovers  who  had  sat  there  centuries  ago, 
when  those  shattered  columns  had  been  white  in  their  fresh 
ness  and  the  temples  had  been  wreathed  with  the  garlands 
of  youth.  And  the  eternal  waves  said  to  them  what  they  had 
said  to  the  dead  and  forgotten ;  and  the  fickle  winds  sang  to 
them  what  they  had  sung  to  the  fair  and  the  nameless,  and 
they  stretched  forth  their  hands,  and  saw  but  the  sea  and  the 
sun. 


48     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

And  they  knew  not  the  deity  to  whom  those  temple  columns 
had  been  raised,  just  as  he  knew  not  to  whose  worship  those 
fallen  columns  had  been  erected,  nor  guessed  they  who  had 
knelt  at  the  holy  shrines.  And  as  they  sat  there,  the  man  and 
the  woman,  their  eyes  probing  the  depths  of  living  sapphire, 
they  would  watch  the  restless  sea-weed  that  seemed  to  coil 
and  uncoil  like  innumerable  blue  snakes  upon  a  bed  of  bright 
blue  flames,  and  the  luminous  mosses  that  trembled  like  blue 
stars  ceaselessly  towards  the  surface  that  they  never,  never 
reached.  And  down  there  in  the  crystal  palaces  they  would 
fancy  that  they  saw  faces  as  of  glancing  mermen,  even  as  the 
lovers  of  older  days  had  seen  passing  Tritons  and  the  scaly 
children  of  Poseidon. 

And  again  she  would  croon  those  sad  melancholy  songs 
that  came  from  her  lips  like  faint  echoes  of  Aeolian  harps. 
Now  she  flung  them  upon  the  air  in  bursts  of  weird  music, 
to  the  accompaniment  of  a  breaking  wave,  songs  so  passionate 
and  elemental  that  they  seemed  the  cry  of  these  same  radiant 
waters  when  churned  by  the  storm  into  fury.  Or  they  might 
have  been  such  wailings  as  spirits  imprisoned  in  old  sea  caves 
would  utter  to  the  hollow  walls,  or  which  the  ghosts  of  ship 
wrecked  crews  might  send  forth  from  the  rocks  where  they 
had  perished.  Or  again  they  might  suggest  some  earthly 
passion,  love,  jealousy,  the  cry  of  a  longing  heart,  till  the 
dirge  seemed  to  wear  itself  out  and  the  soul  of  the  listener 
seemed  to  sail  out  of  the  tempest  into  bright  and  peaceful 
waters  like  those  that  skirted  dream -lost  Avalon,  scarcely 
rippled  by  the  faint  breeze  of  summer,  breaking  in  long  unfurl 
ing  waves  among  the  rocks  at  their  feet.  Thus  they  used  to 
sit  long  hours,  heart  listening  to  heart,  soul  clinging  to  soul, 
while  she  bared  her  throat  to  the  scent-laden  breezes  that 
fanned  her  and  looked  out  on  the  dazzling  horizon  —  till  a 
lightning  flash  from  the  clear  azure  splintered  the  dream  and 
broke  two  lives. 

For  a  long  tune  Tristan  gazed  about,  vainly  trying  to  order 


THE   COUP  49 

his  thoughts.  Could  he  but  forget!  Would  but  the  present 
engulf  the  past !  - 

His  adventure  at  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  of  the  Aventine 
and  his  chance  meeting  with  Theodora  recurred  to  him  at 
intervals  throughout  the  day,  and  he  could  not  but  admit 
that  the  reports  of  the  woman's  beauty  were  far  from  exag 
gerated.  Perchance,  if  the  memory  of  Hellayne  had  been 
less  firmly  rooted  in  his  soul,  he,  too,  might,  like  many  another, 
have  sought  solace  at  the  forbidden  fount.  However,  he  was 
resolved  to  avoid  her,  for  he  had  seen  something  in  the  swift 
glance  she  had  bestowed  upon  him  that  discoursed  of  matters 
it  behooved  him  to  beware  of.  And  yet  he  wondered  how 
she  had  received  his  denial,  she,  whom  no  man  had  denied 
before.  Then  this  memory  also  faded  before  the  exigencies 
of  the  hour. 

The  sun  had  sunk  to  rest  in  a  sky  of  turquoise,  crimson  and 
gold,  when  Tristan  found  himself  standing  on  the  eminence 
where  seven  decades  later  Crescentius,  the  Senator  of  Rome, 
was  to  build  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  in  Ara  Coeli. 

Leaning  on  a  broken  pillar,  Tristan  watched  the  evening 
light  as  it  spread  a  veil  of  ethereal  splendor  over  the  Seven 
Hills  and  there  came  to  him  a  strange  feeling  of  remoteness 
as  to  one  standing  upon  some  hill-set  shrine. 

Far  beneath  him  lay  the  Forum.  White  columns  shone 
roseate  in  the  dying  light  of  day. 

Wrapt  in  deep  thoughts  and  meditations,  Tristan  descended 
the  stairs  leading  from  the  summit  whence  in  after  time  the 
name  of  Santa  Maria  in  Ara  Coeli  —  Holy  Mother  at  the 
Altar  of  Heaven  —  was  to  ring  in  the  ears  of  thousands  like 
a  beautiful  rhythmic  chant,  and  after  a  time  he  found  himself 
in  the  Piazza  fronting  the  Lateran. 

Seized  with  a  sudden  impulse  he  entered  the  church. 

Slowly  the  worshippers  began  to  assemble.  Their  numbers 
increased  to  almost  a  hundred,  though  they  seemed  but  as 
so  many  shadows  in  the  vast  nave.  There  was  something 


50     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

in  their  faces,  touched  by  the  uncertain  glimmer  of  the  tapers 
and  lamps,  that  filled  him  with  awe,  as  if  he  were  standing 
among  the  ghosts  of  the  past. 

At  last  the  holy  office  commenced. 

A  very  old  priest,  whose  features  Tristan  could  not  dis 
tinguish,  began  to  chant  the  Introitus,  hi  deep  long  drawn 
notes.  Through  the  narrow  windows  filtered  the  light  of  the 
rising  moon.  It  did  little  more  than  stain  the  dusk.  Over 
the  sombre  high  altar  hung  the  white  ivory  figure  of  the 
Christ,  bowed,  sagged,  in  the  last  agony.  A  few  blood-red 
poppies  were  the  only  flowers  upon  the  altar.  The  fumes  of 
incense  rose  in  spiral  columns  to  the  vaulted  ceiling. 

The  Kyrie  had  been  chanted,  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis  Deo. 
Later  the  Host  was  consecrated  and  the  cup  before  the  kneel 
ing  worshippers,  and  the  priest  was  turning  to  those  near  him 
who,  as  was  still  the  custom  in  those  days,  were  present  to 
communicate  in  both  kinds. 

To  each  came  from  his  lips  the  solemn  words : 

"  Corpus  Domini  Nostri  Jesu  Christi  custodiat  animam 
tuam  ad  Vitam  aeternam!  " 

He  dipped  his  fingers  in  the  cup,  cleansing  them  with  a 
little  wine.  He  consumed  the  cleansings  and  turned  to  read 
the  antiphony  with  resonant  voice. 

"  I  saw  the  heavens  opened  and  Jesus  at  the  right  hand  of 
God.  Lord  Jesus  receive  their  spirit  and  lay  not  this  sin  to 
their  charge ! " 

Then,  with  hands  folded  over  his  breast,  he  moved  towards 
the  altar  in  the  centre,  touched  it  with  his  lips,  and,  turning 
once  more  to  the  people,  said: 

"  Dominus  Vobiscum !  " 

"  Et  cum  spiritu  tuo,"  was  not  answered. 

For  at  that  moment  rough  shouts  were  heard  and  through 
a  side  door,  near  a  chapel,  a  body  of  ruffians  rushed  into  the 
Basilica,  then*  faces  vizored  and  masked. 

With  shouts  and  oaths  they  made  then-  way  towards  the 


THECOUP  51 

altar.  The  worshippers  scattered,  the  mail-clad  ruffians 
smiting  their  way  through  their  kneeling  ranks  up  to  the 
altar  where  stood  the  form  of  a  youth  clad  in  pontifical  vest 
ments,  pale  but  calm  in  the  face  of  the  impending  storm. 

It  was  Pope  John  XL,  held  prisoner  in  the  Lateran  by 
Alberic,  the  Senator  of  Rome.  Tristan  had  not  noted  his 
presence  during  the  ceremony.  Now,  like  a  revelation,  the 
import  of  the  scene  flashed  upon  his  mind. 

Bearing  Tristan  down  by  the  sheer  weight  of  their  numbers, 
they  rushed  upon  the  Pontiff,  stripped  him  of  his  pallium  and 
chasuble,  leaving  him  but  one  sacred  vestment,  the  white 
albe. 

Unable  to  reach  the  Pontiff's  side,  unable  to  aid  him, 
Tristan  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  an  impotent  witness  of  the 
most  heinous  sacrilege  his  mind  could  picture,  almost  turned 
to  stone. 

Before  Tristan's  very  eyes,  before  the  eyes  of  the  wor 
shippers,  who  outnumbered  the  ruffians  ten  to  one,  an  outrage 
was  being  committed  at  which  the  fiends  themselves  would 
shudder.  Violence  was  being  done  to  the  Father  of  Chris 
tendom  in  his  own  city,  and  the  craven  cowards  had  but  their 
own  safety  hi  mind. 

Just  what  happened  Tristan  could  not  immediately  remem 
ber.  For,  as  he  rushed  towards  the  spot  where  he  saw  the 
Pontiff  struggling  helplessly  against  his  assailants,  he  was 
violently  thrust  back  and  the  ruffians  made  their  way  towards 
a  side  chapel  with  their  captive.  Thus  he  found  himself 
helplessly  borne  along  hi  the  darkness,  and  thrust  out  into 
the  night.  Tristan  fell  beneath  their  feet  and  was  for  a 
moment  so  utterly  stunned  that  he  could  not  rise. 

As  in  a  dream  he  heard  the  leader  of  the  band  give  a  com 
mand  to  his  followers.  They  mounted  their  steeds  which 
were  tethered  outside  and  tramped  away  into  the  night. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  an  armed  band  in  the  sacred 
precincts  of  the  Lateran  had  so  terrified  and  cowed  the  crowd 


52     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

of  worshippers  that  even  when  the  doors  of  the  Basilica  were 
left  unguarded,  not  one  ventured  to  give  assistance.  Like 
shadows  they  fled  into  the  night. 

When  Tristan  regained  some  sort  of  consciousness  he 
looked  about  in  vain  for  aid. 

Dimly  he  remembered  that  the  ruffians  were  mounted, 
and  by  the  time  he  summoned  succor  they  would  have 
stowed  their  captive  safely  away  in  one  of  their  castellated 
fortresses,  where  one  might  search  for  him  in  vain  forever 
more. 

The  Piazza,  in  front  of  the  Lateran  was  deserted.  Not  a 
human  being  was  to  be  seen.  Tristan  pursued  his  way 
through  waste  spaces  that  offered  no  clue.  He  rushed 
through  narrow  and  deserted  streets,  abandoned  of  the  living. 
He  felt  like  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice :  "  Romans  awake ! 
They  have  abducted  the  Pontiff."  But,  stranger  as  he  was, 
and  dreading  lest  he  might  share  John's  fate  or  worse,  he 
withstood  the  impulse  and  at  last  found  himself  upon  the 
Bridge  of  San  Angelo  before  the  fortress  tomb  of  the  former 
master  of  the  world,  dreaming  hi  the  surrounding  desolation. 
Before  the  massive  bronze  gate  cowered  a  man-at-arms, 
drowsing  over  his  pike. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Tristan  shook  the  drowsy 
guardian  of  the  Angel's  Castle  into  blaspheming  alertness. 

"  They  have  abducted  the  Pontiff ! "  he  shouted,  without 
releasing  his  clutch  on  the  gaping  Burgundian.  "  Sound  the 
alarums !  Even  now  it  may  be  too  late !  " 

The  man  in  the  brown  leather  jerkin  and  steel  casque 
stared  open-mouthed  at  the  speaker. 

"  The  Lord  Alberic  is  within  —  "  he  stammered  at  last, 
with  an  effort  to  shake  off  the  drowsiness  that  held  his  senses 
captive. 

"  Then  rouse  him  in  the  devil's  name,"  shouted  Tristan. 

The  last  words  had  their  effect  upon  the  stolid  Northman. 
After  the  elapse  of  some  precious  moments  Alberic  himself 


THECOUP  53 

emerged  from  the  Emperor's  Tomb  and  Tristan  repeated  his 
account  of  the  outrage,  little  guessing  the  rank  of  him  with 
whom  he  was  standing  face  to  face. 

But  now  they  were  confronted  with  a  dilemma  which  it 
seemed  would  put  all  Tristan's  efforts  to  naught. 

Who  were  the  leaders  of  the  party  that  had  abducted  the 
Pontiff?  For  thereon  hinged  their  success  of  intercepting 
the  outlaws. 

Tristan's  description  of  the  leader  did  not  seem  to  make 
any  marked  impression  on  the  Senator  of  Rome. 

He  questioned  Tristan  with  regard  to  their  coat-of-arms  or 
other  heraldic  emblems.  But  the  author  of  the  outrage  had 
shown  sufficient  foresight  to  avoid  a  hazardous  display. 
There  seemed  but  one  alternative ;  to  scour  the  city  of  Rome 
in  the  uncertain  hope  of  intercepting  the  outlaws,  if  they 
were  still  within  the  walls. 

Tristan  attached  himself  to  the  senatorial  party,  joining  in 
the  pursuit.  At  first  their  task  seemed  hopeless  indeed. 
Those  they  met  and  questioned  had  seen  no  armed  band,  or, 
if  they  had,  denied  all  knowledge  thereof.  The  frowning 
masonry  of  the  Cenci,  Savelli,  Frangipani,  and  Odescalchi, 
which  they  passed  in  turn,  returned  but  an  inscrutable  reply 
to  their  questioning  glances. 

For  a  time  they  continued  their  fruitless  quest.  But  as  if 
an  outrage  so  horrible  had  ignited  the  very  air  about  them, 
they  soon  found  people  stirring,  shutters  opening  and  shadowy 
figures  issuing  from  dark  doorways,  while  folk  were  running 
and  shouting  to  one  another: 

"  The  Pontiff  has  been  abducted!  " 

Between  cries  of  rage  and  shouts  of  command  and  indeci 
sion  on  the  part  of  the  leader,  who  knew  not  in  which  direc 
tion  to  pursue,  an  hour  had  elapsed,  when  they  suddenly 
heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs.  A  company  of  horsemen  came 
galloping  down  the  street.  Alberic's  suspicions  that  the 
ruffians  would  prefer  carrying  their  victim  by  devious  by- 


54     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

ways  to  one  or  the  other  of  their  Roman  lairs,  rather  than 
attempt  to  leave  the  city  in  the  teeth  of  the  Senator's  guard, 
seemed  realized.  Oaths  and  sharp  orders  broke  the  silence 
of  the  night. 

It  was  amongst  a  gigantic  pile  of  ruins,  apart  from  all  habi 
tations  of  the  living,  that  they  came  to  a  halt.  To  a  gaunt 
brick-built  tower  they  drew  close,  knocking  against  the  iron- 
studded  door,  but  ere  those  within  could  open,  they  were 
surrounded,  outnumbered  ten  to  one. 

Tristan  was  the  first  to  bound  in  amongst  them. 

His  eyes  quivered  upon  the  steel-clad  form  of  the  leader 
of  the  band. 

At  the  next  moment  a  blow  from  Tristan's  fist  struck  him 
down  and,  ere  he  could  recover  himself,  he  had  been  bound, 
hand  and  foot,  and  turned  over  to  the  Senator's  guards. 

His  followers,  despairing  of  success,  made  a  sudden  dash 
through  the  ranks  of  the  people  who  had  been  attracted  by 
the  melee,  riding  down  a  number,  injuring  and  maiming 
many. 

The  Senator  of  Rome  ranged  his  men,  now  re-inforced  by 
the  Prefect's  guard,  round  the  drooping  form  of  John,  while 
a  howling  and  shouting  mob,  ready  to  wreak  vengeance  on 
the  first  object  it  encountered  in  its  path,  followed  in  their 
wake  as  they  made  their  way  towards  the  Lateran. 

An  hour  later,  in  a  high  vaulted,  dimly  lighted  chamber  of 
the  Archangel's  Castle,  Tristan,  the  pilgrim,  and  Alberic,  the 
Senator  of  Rome,  faced  each  other  for  the  second  time. 

In  the  course  of  the  pursuit  of  the  ruffians  in  which  he  par 
ticipated,  Tristan  had  been  casually  informed  of  the  rank  of 
him  who  led  the  Senatorial  guard  in  person  and  when,  their 
object  accomplished,  he  started  to  detach  himself  from  the 
men-at-arms,  Alberic  had  foiled  his  intention  by  commanding 
him  to  accompany  him  to  the  fortress-tomb  where  he  himself 
held  forth. 

Seated   opposite   each  other,   each   seemed   to   scan  the 


THECOUP  55 

other's  countenance  before  a  word  was  spoken  between 
them. 

Alberic's  regard  of  the  man  who  seemed  utterly  uncon 
scious  of  the  importance  of  the  service  he  had  rendered  the 
Senator  betokened  approval,  and  his  eyes  dwelt  for  some 
moments  on  the  frank  and  open  countenance  of  this  stranger, 
perchance  contrasting  it  inwardly  with  the  complex  nature 
of  those  about  his  person  in  whom  he  could  trust  but  so  long 
as  he  could  tempt  them  with  earthly  dross,  and  who  would 
turn  against  him  should  a  higher  bidder  for  their  favor  appear. 

Tristan's  first  impression  of  the  son  of  Marozia  was  that 
of  one  born  to  command.  Dark  piercing  eyes  were  set  in  a 
face,  stern,  haughty,  yet  strangely  beautiful.  Alberic's  tall, 
slender  figure,  dressed  in  black  velvet,  relieved  by  slashes  of 
red  satin,  added  to  the  impressiveness  of  his  personality. 
Upon  closer  scrutiny  Tristan  could  discover  a  marked  resem 
blance  between  the  man  before  him  and  his  half-brother,  the 
ill-fated  Pontiff,  whom,  for  political  reasons,  or  considerations 
of  his  personal  safety,  he  kept  prisoner  in  the  pontifical  palace. 

But  there  was  yet  another  present,  who  apparently  took 
little  heed  of  the  stranger,  engaged  as  he  seemed  in  the 
perusal  of  a  parchment,  spread  out  upon  a  table  before  him, 
—  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

A  whispered  conversation  had  taken  place  between  the 
Senator  and  his  confidential  adviser,  for  this  was  Basil's 
true  station  in  the  senatorial  household.  In  the  evil  days  of 
Marozia's  regime  he  had  occupied  the  same  favored  position 
at  the  Roman  court,  and,  when  Alberic's  revolt  had  swept  the 
regime  of  Ugo  of  Tuscany  and  Marozia  from  Roman  soil,  the 
son  had  attached  to  himself  the  man  who  had  shown  a  marked 
sagacity  and  ability  in  the  days  that  had  come  to  a  close. 

Basil's  complex  countenance  proved  somewhat  more  of  an 
enigma  to  the  silent  on-looker  than  did  the  Senator's  stern» 
though  frank  face. 

He  was  garbed  in  black,  a  color  to  which  he  seemed  partial. 


56     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

A  flat  cap  of  black  velvet  with  a  feather  curled  round  the 
brim,  above  a  doublet  of  black  velvet,  close  fitting,  the  sleeves 
slashed,  to  show  the  crimson  tunic  underneath.  The  trunk 
hose  round  the  muscular  legs  were  of  black  silk  and  gold 
thread,  woven  together  and  lined  with  sarsenet.  His  feet 
were  encased  in  black  buskins  with  silver  buckles,  and  puffed 
silk  inserted  in  the  slashings  of  the  leather. 

The  whole  suggestion  of  the  dark,  sable  figure  was  odd. 
It  was  exotic,  and  the  absence  of  a  beard  greatly  intensified 
the  impression.  The  face,  as  Tristan  saw  it  by  the  light  of 
the  taper,  was  expressionless  • —  a  physical  mask. 

At  last  Alberic  broke  the  silence,  turning  his  eyes  full  upon 
the  man  who  met  his  gaze  without  flinching. 

"  You  have  —  at  your  own  risk  —  saved  Rome  and  Holy 
Church  from  a  calamity  the  whole  extent  of  which  we  may 
not  even  surmise,  had  the  Pontiff  been  carried  away  by  the 
lawless  band  of  Tebaldo  Savello.  We  owe  you  thanks  —  and 
we  shall  not  shirk  our  duty.  You  are  a  stranger.  Who  are 
you  and  why  are  you  here?  " 

To  the  same  questions  that  another  had  put  to  him  on  the 
memorable  eve  of  his  arrival,  in  the  Piazza.  Navona,  Tristan 
replied  with  equal  frankness.  His  words  bore  the  stamp  of 
truth,  and  Alberic  listened  to  a  tale  passing  strange  to  Roman 
ears. 

And,  unseen  by  Tristan,  something  began  to  stir  in  the 
dark,  unfathomable  eyes  of  Basil,  as  some  unknown  thing 
stirs  in  deep  waters,  and  the  hidden  thing  therein,  to  him 
who  saw,  was  hidden  no  longer.  Some  nameless  being  was 
looking  out  of  these  windows  of  the  soul.  One  looking  at 
him  now  would  have  shrank  away,  cold  fear  gripping  his 
heart. 

For  a  moment,  after  Tristan  had  finished  his  tale,  there 
was  silence.  Alberic  had  risen  and,  seemingly  unconscious 
of  the  presences  in  his  chamber,  was  perambulating  its 


THE  COUP  57 

narrow  confines  until,  of  a  sudden,  he  stopped  directly  before 
Tristan. 

"  These  penances  completed,  whereof  you  speak  —  do  you 
intend  returning  to  the  land  of  your  birth?  " 

A  blank  dismay  shone  in  Tristan's  eyes.  Not  having 
referred  to  the  nature  of  the  transgression,  for  which  he  was 
to  do  penance,  and  obtain  absolution,  he  found  it  somewhat 
difficult  to  answer  Alberic's  question. 

"  This  is  a  matter  I  had  not  considered,"  he  replied  with 
some  hesitancy,  which  remained  not  unremarked  by  the 
Senator. 

Alberic  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and  he  possessed  a  dis 
cernment  far  beyond  his  years.  At  the  first  glance  at  this 
stranger  whom  fate  had  led  across  his  path,  he  had  known 
that  here  was  one  he  might  trust,  could  he  but  induce  him 
to  become  his  man. 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  your  friend  and  I  mean  to  requite  the 
service  you  have  done  the  Senator,  ere  the  dawn  of  another 
day  breaks  in  the  sky.  There  is  a  vacancy  in  the  Senator's 
guard.  I  appoint  you  captain  of  Castel  San  Angelo." 

Ere  Tristan  could  sufficiently  recover  from  his  surprise  to 
make  reply,  another  voice  was  audible,  a  voice,  soft  and 
insinuating  —  the  voice  of  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

"  My  lord  —  the  chain  of  evidence  against  Gamba  is  not 
completed.  In  fact,  later  developments  seem  to  point  to  an 
intrigue  of  which  he  is  but  the  unwitting  victim  —  " 

Alberic  turned  to  the  speaker. 

"  The  proofs,  my  Lord  Basil,  are  conclusive.  Gamba  is  a 
traitor  convicted  of  having  conspired  with  an  emissary  of 
Ugo  of  Tuscany,  to  deliver  the  Archangel's  Castle  into  his 
hands.  He  is  sentenced  —  he  shall  die  —  as  soon  as  we 
discover  his  abode  —  " 

Basil's  face  had  turned  to  ashen  hues. 

"  What  mean  you,  my  lord?    Gamba  is  awaiting  sentence 


58     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

in  the  dungeon  where  he  has  been  confined,  ever  since  his 
trial  —  " 

"  The  cage  is  still  there,"  Alberic  interposed  sardonically. 
"  The  bird  has  flown." 

"  Escaped?  "  stammered  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  rising 
from  his  seat  and  raising  his  furtive  eyes  to  those  of  the 
Senator.  "  Then  he  has  confederates  in  our  very  midst  —  " 

"  We  shall  know  more  of  this  anon,"  came  the  laconic 
reply.  "  Will  you  accept  the  trust  which  the  Senator  of 
Rome  offers  you?  "  Alberic  turned  from  the  Grand  Cham 
berlain  to  Tristan. 

The  latter  found  his  voice  at  last. 

"  How  shall  I  thank  you,  my  lord! "  he  said,  grasping  the 
Senator's  hand.  "  Grant  me  but  a  week,  wherein  to  absolve 
the  business  upon  which  I  came  —  and  I  shall  prove  myself 
worthy  of  the  lord  Alberic's  trust!  " 

"  So  be  it,"  the  son  of  Marozia  replied.  "  A  long  deferred 
pilgrimage  to  the  shrines  of  the  Archangel  at  Monte  Gargano 
will  take  me  from  Rome  for  the  space  of  a  month  or  more. 
I  should  like  to  be  assured  that  this  keep  is  in  the  hands  of  one 
who  will  not  fail  me  in  the  hour  of  need !  My  Lord  Basil  — 
greet  the  new  captain  of  Castel  San  Angelo  —  " 

Approaching  almost  soundlessly  over  the  tiled  floor,  the 
Grand  Chamberlain  extended  his  hand  to  Tristan,  offering 
his  congratulations  upon  his  sudden  advancement. 

Whatever  it  was  that  flashed  in  Basil's  eyes,  it  was  gone  as 
quickly  as  it  had  come.  His  thin  lips  parted  in  an  inscrutable 
smile  as  Tristan,  with  a  bend  of  the  head,  acknowledged  the 
courtesy. 

For  a  moment,  following  his  acceptance,  Tristan  was 
startled  at  his  own  decision.  Another  would  have  felt  it  to 
be  an  amazing  streak  of  luck.  Tristan  was  frightened, 
though  his  misgivings  vanished  after  a  time. 

Owing  to  the  lateness  of  the  hour  and  the  insecurity  of  the 


THECOUP  59 

streets  Alberic  offered  Tristan  the  hospitality  of  his  future 
abode  for  the  night  and  the  latter  gladly  accepted. 

After  Basil  had  departed,  he  remained  closeted  with  the 
Senator  for  the  space  of  an  hour  or  more.  What  transpired 
between  these  two  remained  guarded  from  the  outer  world, 
and  it  was  late  ere  the  sentinel  on  the  ramparts  saw  the  light 
in  the  Senator's  chamber  extinguished,  wondering  at  the 
nature  of  the  business  which  detained  the  lord  Alberic  and 
the  tall  stranger  in  the  pilgrim's  garb. 


CHAPTER  VII 


MASKS   AND   MUMMERS 


MID  the  ruin  of  cities  and  the 
din  of  strife  during  the  tenth 
century  darkness  closed  in  upon 
the  Romans,  while  the  figures 
of  strange  despots  emerged  from 
obscurity  only  to  disappear  as 
quickly  into  the  night  of  oblivion. 
Little  of  them  is  known,  save 
that  they  ruled  the  people  and 
the  pope  with  merciless  severity, 
and  that  the  first  one  of  them  was  a  woman. 

The  beautiful  Theodora  the  older  was  the  wife  of  Theophy- 
lactus,  Consul  and  Patricius  of  Rome,  but  the  permanence  of 
her  power  seemed  to  have  been  due  entirely  to  her  own 
charm  and  personality. 

Her  daughter  Marozia,  with  even  greater  beauty,  greater 
fascination  and  greater  gift  of  daring,  played  even  a  more 
conspicuous  part  in  the  history  of  her  time.  She  married 
Alberic,  Count  of  Spoleto,  whose  descendants,  the  Counts  of 
Tusculum,  gave  popes  and  mighty  citizens  to  Rome.  One  of 
their  palaces  is  said  to  have  adjoined  the  Church  of  S.  S. 
Apostoli,  and  came  later  into  the  possession  of  the  powerful 
house  of  Colonna. 

Alberic  of  Spoleto  soon  died  and  Marozia,  as  the  chronicles 
tell  us,  continued  as  the  temporal  ruler  of  the  city  and  the 
arbitress  of  pontifical  elections.  She  held  forth  in  Castel 
San  Angelo,  the  indomitable  stronghold  of  mediaeval  Rome. 

In  John  X.  who,  in  the  year  914,  had  gained  the  tiara 
through  Theodora,  she  found  a  man  of  character,  whose  aim 


MASKS  AND  MUMMERS  61 

and  ambition  were  the  dominion  of  Rome,  the  supremacy  of 
the  Church. 

By  the  promise  of  an  imperial  crown,  the  pope  gained 
Count  Ugo  of  Tuscany  to  his  party,  but  Marozia  outwitted 
him,  by  giving  her  hand  to  his  more  powerful  half-brother 
Guide,  then  Margrave  of  Tuscany. 

John  X.,  after  trying  for  two  years,  in  spite  of  his  enemies, 
to  maintain  his  regime  from  the  Lateran,  at  last  fell  into 
their  hands  and  was  either  strangled  or  starved  to  death  in 
the  dungeons  of  Castel  San  Angelo. 

After  the  death  of  Guido,  Marozia  married  his  half -brother 
Ugo.  The  strange  wedding  took  place  in  the  Mausoleum  of 
the  Emperor  Hadrian,  where  a  bridal  hall  and  nuptial  chamber 
had  been  arranged  and  adorned  for  them. 

From  the  fortress  tomb  of  the  Flavian  Emperor,  Ugo  lorded 
it  over  the  city  of  Rome,  earning  thereby  the  hatred  of  the 
people  and  especially  of  young  Alberic,  his  ambitious  step 
son,  the  son  of  Marozia  and  Count  Alberic  of  Spoleto. 

The  proud  youth,  forced  one  day  to  serve  him  as  a  page, 
with  intentional  awkwardness,  splashed  some  water  over  him 
and  in  return  received  a  blow.  Mad  with  fury,  Alberic  rushed 
from  Castel  San  Angelo  and  summoned  the  people  to  arms. 
The  clarions  sounded  and  the  fortress  tomb  was  surrounded 
by  a  blood-thirsty  mob.  In  no  time  the  actors  changed 
places.  Ugo  escaped  by  means  of  a  rope  from  a  window  in 
the  castello  and  returned  to  Tuscany,  leaving  behind  him  his 
honor,  his  wife  and  his  imperial  crown,  while  the  youth 
Alberic  became  master  of  Rome,  cast  Marozia  into  a  prison 
in  Castel  San  Angelo  and  kept  his  half-brother,  John  XI.,  a 
close  prisoner  in  the  Lateran. 

But  the  imprisonment  of  Marozia,  and  her  mysterious 
disappearance  from  the  scenes  of  her  former  triumphs  and 
baleful  activity  did  not  end  the  story  of  the  woman  regime  in 
Rome. 

There  lived  in  a  palace,  built  upon  the  ruins  of  nameless 


62     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

temples  and  sanctuaries,  and  embellished  with  all  the  bar 
barous  splendor  of  Byzantine  and  Moorish  arts,  hi  the 
remote  wilderness  of  Mount  Aventine,  a  woman,  who,  hi 
point  of  physical  charms,  ambition  and  daring  had  not  her 
equal  hi  Rome  since  the  death  of  Marozia.  Theodora  the 
younger,  as  she  is  distinguished  from  her  mother,  the  wife 
of  Theophylactus,  by  contemporary  chroniclers,  was  the 
younger  sister  of  Marozia. 

The  boundless  ambition  of  the  latter  had  left  nothing  to 
achieve  for  the  woman  who  had  reached  her  thirtieth  year 
when  Alberic's  revolution  consigned  her  sister  to  a  nameless 
doom. 

Strange  rumors  concerning  her  were  afloat  in  Rome. 
Strange  things  were  whispered  of  her  palace  on  Mount 
Aventine,  where  she  assembled  about  her  the  nobility  of  the 
city  and  the  surrounding  castelli,  and  soon  her  court  vied  in 
point  of  sumptuousness  and  splendor  with  the  most  splendid 
and  profligate  of  her  time. 

Her  admirers  numbered  by  thousands,  and  her  exotic 
beauty  caused  new  lovers  to  swell  the  ranks  of  the  old  with 
every  day  that  passed  down  the  never  returning  tide  of  time. 

Some  came  openly  and  some  came  under  the  cover  of 
night,  heavily  muffled  and  cloaked:  spendthrifts,  gamblers, 
gallants,  men  of  fashion,  officers  of  the  Senator's  Court, 
poets,  philosophers,  and  the  feudal  lords  of  the  Campagna. 

Wealthy  debauchees  from  the  provinces,  princes  from  the 
shores  of  the  Euxine,  Lombard  and  Tuscan  chiefs,  Northmen 
from  Scandinavia  and  Iceland,  wearing  over  their  gnarled 
limbs  the  soft  silken  tunics  of  Rome,  Greeks,  sleek,  furtive- 
eyed,  rulers  from  far-off  Cathay,  wearing  coats  of  crimson 
with  strange  embroidery  from  the  scented  East,  men  from 
the  isles  of  Venetia  and  the  stormy  plains  of  Thessaly,  men 
with  narrow  slanting  eyes  from  the  limitless  steppes  of 
Sarmatia,  blond  warriors  from  the  amber  coasts  of  the 
Baltic,  Persian  princes  who  worshipped  the  Sun,  and  Moors 


MASKS  AND  MUMMERS  63 

from  the  Spanish  Caliphate  of  Cordova;  chieftains  from  the 
Lybian  desert,  as  restive  as  their  fiery  steeds;  black  despots 
from  the  hidden  heart  of  Africa,  with  thick  lips  and  teeth  like 
ivory,  effete  youths  from  Sicily  and  the  Ionian  isles,  possessed 
of  the  insidious  beauty  of  the  Lesbian  women,  adventurers 
from  Samarkand  and  Bokhara,  trading  in  strange  wares  and 
steeped  in  odor  of  musk  and  spices;  Hyperboreans  from  the 
sea-skirt  shores  of  an  ever  frozen  unimaginable  ocean ;  — 
from  every  land  under  the  sun  they  came  to  Rome,  for  the 
sinister  fame  of  Theodora's  beauty,  the  baleful  mystery  that 
surrounded  her,  and  her  dark  repute  proved  powerful  incen 
tives  to  curiosity,  which  soon  gave  way  to  overmastering 
passion,  once  the  senses  had  been  steeped  in  the  intoxicating 
atmosphere  of  the  woman's  presence. 

And,  indeed,  her  physical  charms  were  such  as  no  mortal 
had  yet  resisted  whom  she  had  willed  to  make  her  own. 
Her  body,  tall  as  a  column,  was  lustrous,  incomparable. 
The  arms  and  hands  seemed  to  have  been  chiselled  of  ivory 
by  a  master  creator  who  might  point  with  pride  to  the  perfec 
tion  of  his  handiwork  —  the  perfection  of  Aphrodite,  Lais  and 
Phryne  melted  into  one.  The  features  were  of  such  rare 
mould  and  faultless  type  that  even  Marozia  had  to  concede 
to  her  younger  sister  the  palm  of  beauty.  The  wonderful, 
deep  set  eyes,  with  their  ever  changing  lights,  now  emerald, 
now  purple,  now  black;  the  straight,  pencilled  brows,  the 
broad  smooth  forehead  and  the  tiny  ears,  hidden  hi  the 
wealth  of  her  raven  hair,  tied  into  a  Grecian  knot  and  sur 
mounted  by  a  circlet  of  emeralds,  skillfully  worked  into  the 
twining  bodies  of  snakes  with  ruby  eyes;  the  satin  sheen  of 
the  milk-white  skin  whose  ivory  pallor  was  tinted  with  the 
faintest  rose-light  that  never  changed  either  in  heat  or  hi 
cold,  in  anger  or  in  joy:  such  was  the  woman  whose  long 
slumbering,  long  suppressed  ambition,  coupled  with  a  daring 
that  had  not  its  equal,  was  to  be  fanned  into  a  raging  holocaust 
after  Marozia's  untimely  demise. 


64     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Concealing  her  most  secret  hopes  and  ambitions  so  utterly 
that  even  Alberic  became  her  dupe,  Theodora  threw  herself 
into  the  whirl  of  life  with  a  keen  appreciation  of  all  its  thrilling 
excitement.  Vitally  alive  with  the  pride  of  her  sex  and  the 
sense  of  its  power,  she  found  hi  her  existence  all  the  zest  of 
some  breathlessly  fascinating  game.  Men  to  her  were  mere 
pawns.  She  regarded  them  almost  impersonally,  as  crea 
tures  to  taunt,  to  tempt,  to  excite,  to  play  upon.  Deliberately 
and  unstintingly  she  applied  her  arts.  She  delighted  to  see 
them  at  her  feet,  but  to  repel  them  as  the  mood  changed, 
with  exasperating  disdain.  Love  to  her  was  a  word  she  knew 
but  from  report,  —  or,  from  what  she  had  read.  She  knew 
not  its  meaning,  nor  had  she  ever  fathomed  its  depths. 

To  revel  through  delirious  nights  with  some  newly-chosen 
favorite  of  the  moment,  who  would  soon  thereafter  myste 
riously  disappear,  to  be  tossed  from  the  embrace  of  one  into 
the  arms  of  another;  in  the  restless,  fruitless  endeavor  to 
kill  the  pain  of  life,  the  memory  of  consciousness,  to  fill  the 
void  of  a  heart,  that,  alive  to  the  shallowness  of  existence, 
clutches  at  the  saving  hope  of  power,  to  rule  and  to  crush 
the  universe  beneath  her  feet,  a  dream,  vague,  vain,  unattain 
able  :  this  desire  filled  Theodora's  soul. 

Her  soul  was  burning  itself  to  cinders  in  its  own  fires,  — 
those  baleful  fires  that  had  proven  the  undoing  of  her  equally 
beautiful  sister. 

Alone  she  would  pace  her  gilded  chambers,  feverishly, 
unable  to  think,  driven  hither  and  thither  by  the  demons  of 
unrest,  by  the  disquietude  of  her  heart.  Desperately  she 
threw  herself  into  whatever  excitement  offered. 

But  it  was  always  in  vain. 

She  found  no  respite.  Ever  and  ever  a  reiterant,  restless 
craving  gnawed,  like  a  worm,  at  her  heart. 

As  she  approached  the  thirtieth  year  of  her  life,  Theodora 
had  grown  more  dazzling  in  beauty.  Her  body  had  assumed 
the  wonderful  plasticity  of  marble.  Her  eyes  had  become 


MASKS  AND   MUMMERS  65 

more  unfathomable,  more  wondrously  changeful  in  hues, 
like  the  iridescent  waters  of  the  sea. 

Living  as  she  did  in  an  age  where  a  morbid  trend  pervaded 
the  world,  where  the  approach  of  the  Millennium,  though  no 
one  of  the  present  generation  would  see  the  day,  was  her 
alded  as  the  End  of  Time;  living  as  she  did  in  the  darkest 
epoch  of  Roman  history,  Theodora  felt  the  utter  inadequacy 
of  her  life,  a  hunger  which  nothing  but  power  could  assuage. 

Slowly  this  desire  began  to  grow  and  expand.  She  wished 
to  wield  her  will,  not  only  on  men's  emotions,  but  upon  their 
lives  as  well.  Perhaps  even  the  death  of  Marozia,  with  its 
paralyzing  influence  over  her  soul,  the  captivity  in  the  Lateran 
of  her  sister's  son,  and  the  hateful  rule  of  Alberic,  would  not 
have  brought  matters  to  a  focus,  had  not  the  appearance  upon 
the  stage  of  a  woman,  who,  hi  point  of  beauty,  spirit  and 
daring  bade  fair  to  constitute  a  terrible  rival,  roused  all  the 
dormant  passions  in  Theodora's  soul  and  when  Roxana 
openly  boasted  that  she  would  wrest  the  power  from  the 
hands  of  her  rival  and  rule  in  the  Emperor's  Tomb  in  spite 
of  the  Pontiff,  of  Alberic  and  Marozia's  blood-kin,  the  soul 
of  Theodora  leaped  to  the  challenge  of  the  other  woman  and 
she  craved  for  the  conflict  as  she  had  never  longed  for  any 
thing  in  her  life,  save  perchance,  a  love  of  which  she  had  but 
possessed  the  base  counterfeit. 

No  one  knew  whence  Roxana  had  come,  nor  how  long  she 
had  been  in  Rome,  when  an  incident  at  San  Lorenzo  in 
Lucina  had  brought  the  two  women  face  to  face.  Both,  with 
their  trains,  had  simultaneously  arrived  before  the  portals 
of  the  sanctuary  when  Roxana  barred  Theodora's  way. 
Some  mysterious  instinct  seemed  to  have  informed  each  of 
the  person  and  ambition  of  the  other.  For  a  moment  they 
faced  each  other  white  to  the  lips.  Then  Roxana  and  her 
train  had  entered  the  church,  and  as  she  passed  the  other 
woman,  a  deadly  challenge  had  flashed  from  her  blue  eyes 
into  Theodora's  dark  orbs.  The  populace  applauded  Roxana's 


66     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

daring,  and,  in  order  to  taunt  her  rival,  she  had  established 
her  court  on  desert  Aventine,  assembling  about  her  the  dis 
gruntled  lovers  of  Theodora  and  others,  whom  her  disdain 
had  driven  to  seek  oblivion  and  revenge. 

The  land  of  Roxana's  birth  was  shrouded  in  mystery. 
Some  reported  her  from  the  icy  regions  of  the  North,  others 
credited  her  with  being  the  fugitive  odalisque  of  some  Eastern 
despot,  a  native  of  Kurdistan,  the  beauty  and  fire  of  whose 
women  she  possessed  to  a  high  degree. 

Such  was  Roxana,  who  had  challenged  Theodora  for  the 
possession  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  SHRINE  OF  HEKATE 

THWART  the  gleaming  bal 
conies  of  the  east  the  morning 
sun  shone  golden  and  the 
shadows  of  the  white  marble 
cornices  and  capitals  and  jut 
ting  friezes  were  blue  with  the 
reflection  of  the  cloudless  sky. 
Far  below  Mount  Aventine  the 
soft  mists  of  dawn  still  hovered 
over  the  seven-hilled  city, 
whence  the  distant  cries  of  the  water  carriers  and  fruit  venders 
came  echoing  up  from  the  waking  streets. 

A  fugitive  sunbeam  stole  through  a  carelessly  closed  lattice 
of  a  chamber  in  the  palace  of  Theodora,  and  danced  now  on 
the  walls,  bright  with  many  a  painted  scene,  now  on  the 
marble  inlaid  mosaic  of  the  floor.  Now  and  then  a  bright 
blade  or  the  jewelled  rim  of  a  wine  cup  of  eastern  design 
would  flash  back  the  wayward  ray,  until  its  shaft  rested  on  a 
curtained  recess  wherein  lay  a  faintly  outlined  form.  Ten 
derly  the  sunbeams  stole  over  the  white  limbs  that  veiled 
their  chiselled  roundness  under  the  blue  shot  webs  of  their 
wrappings,  which,  at  the  capricious  tossing  of  the  sleeper, 
bared  two  arms,  white  as  ivory  and  wonderful  in  their  statu 
esque  moulding. 

The  face  of  the  sleeper  showed  creamy  white  under  a 
cloud  of  dark,  silken  hair,  held  back  in  a  net  of  gold  from  the 
broad  smooth  forehead.  Dark,  exquisitely  pencilled  eye- 


68  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

brows  arched  over  the  closed,  transparent  lids,  fringed  with 
lashes  that  now  and  then  seemed  to  flicker  on  the  marble 
pallor  of  the  cheeks,  and  the  proudly  poised  head  lay  back, 
half  buried  in  the  cushions,  supported  by  the  gleaming  white 
arms  that  were  clasped  beneath  it. 

Then,  as  if  fearful  of  intruding  on  the  charms  that  his  ray 
had  revealed,  the  sunbeam  turned  and,  kissing  the  bosom 
that  swelled  and  sank  with  the  sleeper's  gentle  breathing, 
descended  till  it  rested  on  an  overhanging  foot,  from  which  a 
carelessly  fastened  sandal  hung  by  one  vermilion  strap. 

Of  a  sudden  a  light  footfall  was  audible  without  and  hi  an 
instant  the  sleeper  had  heard  and  awakened,  her  dark  eyes 
heavy  with  drowsiness,  the  red  lips  parted,  revealing  two 
rows  of  small,  pearly  teeth,  with  the  first  deep  breath  of 
returning  consciousness. 

At  the  sound  one  white  hand  drew  the  silken  wrappings 
over  the  limbs,  that  a  troubled  slumber  and  the  warmth  of  the 
Roman  summer  night  had  bared,  while  the  other  was  endeav 
oring  to  adjust  the  disordered  folds  of  the  saffron  gossamer 
web  that  clung  like  a  veil  to  her  matchless  form. 

"Ah!  It  is  but  you!  Persephone,'  she  said  with  a 
little  sigh,  as  a  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  revealing  the  form 
of  a  girl  about  twenty-two  years  old,  whose  office  as  first 
attendant  to  Theodora  had  been  firmly  established  by  her 
deep  cunning,  a  thorough  understanding  of  her  mistress* 
most  hidden  moods  and  desires,  her  utter  fearlessness 
and  a  native  fierceness,  that  recoiled  from  no  consideration 
of  danger. 

Persephone  was  tall,  straight  as  an  arrow,  lithe  and  sinu 
ous  as  a  snake.  Her  face  was  beautiful,  but  there  was 
something  in  the  gleam  of  those  slightly  slanting  eyes  that 
gave  pause  to  him  who  chanced  to  cross  her  path. 

She  claimed  descent  from  some  mythical  eastern  poten 
tate  and  was  a  native  of  Circassia,  the  land  of  beautiful 
women.  No  one  knew  how  she  had  found  her  way  to  Rome. 


THE   SHRINE   OF   HEKATE         69 

The  fame  of  Marozia's  evil  beauty  and  her  sinister  repute 
had  in  time  attracted  Persephone,  and  she  had  been  imme 
diately  received  in  Marozia's  service,  where  she  remained 
till  the  revolt  of  Alberic  swept  her  mistress  into  the  dungeons 
of  Castel  Saa  Angelo.  Thereupon  she  had  attached  herself 
to  Theodora  who  loved  the  wild  and  beautiful  creature  and 
confided  in  her  utterly. 

"  Evil  and  troubled  have  been  my  dreams,"  Theodora 
continued,  as  the  morning  light  fell  in  through  the  parted 
curtains.  "  At  the  sound  of  your  footfall  I  started  up  — 
fearing  —  I  knew  not  what  — •  " 

"  For  a  long  time  have  I  held  out  against  his  pleadings 
and  commands,"  Persephone  replied  in  a  subdued  voice, 
"  knowing  that  my  lady  slept.  But  he  will  not  be  denied, 
—  and  his  insistence  had  begun  to  frighten  me.  So  at  last 
I  dared  brave  my  lady's  anger  and  disturb  her  — " 

"  Frighten  you,  Persephone? "  Theodora's  musical 
laughter  resounded  through  the  chamber.  "  You  —  who 
braved  death  at  these  white  hands  of  mine  without  flinch 
ing?  " 

She  extended  her  hands  as  if  to  impress  Persephone 
with  their  beauty  and  strength. 

Whatever  the  circumstance  referred  to,  Persephone  made 
no  reply.  Only  her  face  turned  a  shade  more  pale. 

The  draped  figure  had  meanwhile  arisen  to  her  full  height, 
as  she  stretched  the  sleep  from  her  limbs,  then,  her  question 
remaining  unanswered,  she  continued: 

"  But  —  of  whom  do  you  speak?  A  new  defiance  from 
Roxana?  A  new  insult  from  the  Senator  of  Rome?  I  would 
have  it  understood,"  this  with  a  slight  lift  of  the  voice,  "that 
even  were  the  end  of  the  world  at  hand,  of  which  they  prate 
so  much  of  late,  and  heaven  and  earth  to  crumble  into  chaos, 
I  would  not  be  disturbed  to  listen  to  shallow  plaints  and  mock 
heroics." 

"  It  is  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,"  replied  Persephone 


70     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

with  an  apprehensive  glance  of  her  slanting  eyes  over  her 
shoulder,  "  but  my  Lord  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  He 
waits  without  where  the  eunuchs  guard  your  slumber,  and 
his  eyes  are  aflame  with  something  more  than  impatience—" 

At  the  mention  of  the  name  a  subtle  change  passed  over 
the  listener's  face,  and  a  sombre  look  crept  into  her  eyes 
as  she  muttered : 

"  What  can  he  be  bringing  now?  " 

Then,  with  a  sudden  flash,  she  added,  tossing  back  her 
beautiful  head : 

"  Let  the  Lord  Basil  waitt  And  now,  Persephone,  remove 
from  me  the  traces  of  sleep  and  set  the  couches  in  better 
order." 

Silently  and  quickly  the  Circassian  sprang  forward  and 
rolled  back  the  curtains  from  the  lattices,  letting  a  stronger 
but  still  subdued  light  enter  the  chamber,  revealing,  as  it 
did,  many  a  chased  casket,  and  mirrors  of  polished  steel 
and  bronze,  and  lighting  up  exquisite  rainbow  hued  fabrics, 
thrown  carelessly  over  lion-armed  chairs,  with  here  and 
there  an  onyx  table  wonderfully  carved. 

The  chamber  itself  looked  out  upon  a  terrace  and  garden, 
a  garden  filled  with  such  a  marvellous  profusion  of  foliage 
and  flowers,  that,  looking  at  it  from  between  the  glistening 
marble  columns  surrounding  the  palace,  it  seemed  as  though 
the  very  sky  above  rested  edgewise  on  towering  pyramids 
of  red  and  white  bloom.  Awnings  of  softest  pale  blue 
stretched  across  the  entire  width  of  the  spacious  outer  col 
onnade,  where  a  superb  peacock  strutted  majestically  to  and 
fro,  with  boastfully  spreading  tail  and  glittering  crest,  as 
brilliant  as  the  gleam  of  the  hot  sun  on  the  silver  fringe  of 
the  azure  canopies,  amidst  the  gorgeousness  of  waving 
blossoms  that  seemed  to  surge  up  like  a  sea  to  the  very 
windows  of  the  chamber. 

Filling  an  embossed  bowl  with  perfumed  water,  Per 
sephone  bathed  the  hands  of  her  mistress,  who  had  sunk 


THE   SHRINE  OF  HEKATE        71 

down  upon  a  low,  tapestried  couch.  Then,  combing  out  her 
luxuriant  hair,  she  bound  it  in  a  jewelled  netting  that  looked 
like  a  constellation  of  stars  against  the  dusky  masses  it 
confined.  Taking  a  long,  sleeveless  robe  of  amber,  Per 
sephone  flung  it  about  her  subtle  form  and  bound  it  over 
breast  and  shoulders  with  a  jewelled  band.  But  Theodora's 
glance  informed  her  that  something  was  still  wanting  and, 
following  the  direction  of  her  gaze,  Persephone's  eye  rested 
on  a  life-size  statue  of  Hekate  that  stood  with  deadly  calm 
on  its  inexorable  face  and  slightly  raised  hands,  from  one 
of  which  hung  something  that  glittered  strangely  in  the 
subdued  light  of  the  recess. 

Obeying  Theodora's  silent  gesture,  Persephone  advanced 
to  the  image  and  took  from  its  raised  arm  a  circlet  fashioned 
of  two  golden  snakes  with  brightly  enamelled  scales,  bearing 
in  their  mouths  a  single  diamond,  brilliant  as  summer  light 
ning.  This  she  gently  placed  on  her  mistress'  head,  so  that 
the  jewel  flamed  hi  the  centre  of  the  coronet,  then,  kneeling 
down,  she  drew  together  the  unlatched  sandals. 

Persephone's  touch  roused  her  mistress  from  a  day  dream 
that  had  set  her  features  as  rigid  as  ivory,  as  she  surveyed 
herself  for  a  moment  intently  hi  a  great  bronze  disk  whose 
burnished  surface  gave  back  her  flawless  beauty  line 
for  line. 

In  Persephone's  gaze  she  read  her  unstinted  admiration, 
for,  beautiful  as  the  Circassian  was,  she  loved  beauty  hi  her 
own  sex,  wherever  she  found  it. 

Theodora  seemed  to  have  utterly  forgotten  the  presence  of 
the  Grand  Chamberlain  in  the  anteroom,  yet,  in  an  imper 
sonal  way,  her  thoughts  occupied  themselves  with  the  impend 
ing  tete-a-tete. 

Her  life  had  been  one  constant  round  of  pleasure  and 
amusement,  yet  she  was  not  happy,  nor  even  contented. 

Day  by  day  she  felt  the  want  of  some  fresh  interest,  some 
fresh  excitement,  and  it  was  this  craving  probably,  more 


72     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

than  innate  depravity,  which  plunged  her  into  those  disgrace 
ful  and  licentious  excesses  that  were  nightly  enacted  in  the 
sunken  gardens  behind  her  palace.  Lovers  she  had  had  by 
the  scores.  Yet  each  new  face  possessed  for  her  but  the 
attraction  of  novelty.  The  favorite  of  the  hour  had  small 
cause  to  plume  himself  on  his  position.  No  sooner  did  he 
believe  himself  to  be  secure  in  the  possession  of  Theodora's 
love,  than  he  found  himself  hurled  into  the  night  of  oblivion. 

A  strange  pagan  wave  held  Rome  enthralled.  Italy  was  hi 
the  throes  of  a  dark  revulsion.  A  woman,  beautiful  as  she 
was  evil,  had  exercised  within  the  past  decade  her  baleful 
influence  from  Castel  San  Angelo.  Theodora  had  taken  up 
Marozia's  tainted  inheritance.  Members  of  a  family  of 
courtesans,  they  looked  upon  their  trade  as  a  hereditary  privi 
lege  and,  like  the  ancient  Aspasias,  these  Roman  women  of 
the  tenth  century  triumphed  primarily  by  means  of  their 
feminine  beauty  and  charms  over  masculine  barbarism  and 
grossness.  It  'was  an  age  of  feudalism,  when  brutal  force 
and  murderous  fury  were  the  only  divinities  whom  the  bar 
barian  conqueror  was  compelled  to  respect.  Lombards  and 
Huns,  Franks  and  Ostrogoths,  Greeks  and  Africans,  the 
savage  giants  issuing  from  the  deep  Teutonic  forests,  invading 
the  classic  soil  of  Rome,  became  so  many  Herculeses  sitting 
at  the  feet  of  Omphale,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  city  by 
the  Tiber  —  the  atmosphere  that  had  nourished  the  Messa- 
linas  of  Imperial  Rome  —  poured  the  flame  of  ambition  into 
the  soul  of  a  woman  whose  beauty  released  the  strongest 
passions  in  the  hearts  of  those  with  whom  she  surrounded 
herself,  in  order  to  attain  her  soul's  desire.  To  rule  Rome 
from  the  fortress  tomb  of  the  Flavian  emperor  was  the  dream 
of  Theodora's  life.  It  had  happened  once.  It  would  happen 
again,  as  long  as  men  were  ready  to  sacrifice  at  the  shrines 
of  Hekate. 

Unbridled  in  her  passions  as  she  was  strong  in  her  physical 
organization,  an  unbending  pride  and  an  intensity  of  will 


THE   SHRINE   OF  HEKATE        73 

came  to  her  aid  when  she  had  determined  to  win  the  object 
of  her  desire.  In  Theodora's  bosom  beat  a  heart  that  could 
dare,  endure  and  defy  the  worst.  She  was  a  woman  whom 
none  but  a  very  bold  or  ignorant  suitor  would  have  taken  to 
his  heart.  Perchance  the  right  man,  had  he  appeared  on 
the  stage  in  time,  might  have  made  her  gentle  and  quelled 
the  wild  passions  that  tossed  her  resistlessly  about,  like  a 
barque  in  a  hurricane. 

Suddenly  something  seemed  to  tell  her  that  she  had  found 
such  a  one.  Tristan's  manly  beauty  had  made  a  strong 
appeal  upon  her  senses.  The  anomaly  of  his  position  had 
captivated  her  imagination.  There  was  something  strangely 
fascinating  in  the  mystery  that  surrounded  him,  there  was 
even  a  wild  thrill  of  pleasure  in  the  seeming  shame  of  loving 
one  whose  garb  stamped  him  as  one  claimed  by  the  Church. 
He  had  braved  her  anger  in  refusing  to  accompany  Perse 
phone.  He  had  closed  his  eyes  to  Theodora's  beauty,  had 
sealed  his  ears  to  the  song  of  the  siren. 

"  A  man  at  last !  "  she  said  half  aloud,  and  Persephone, 
looking  up  from  her  occupation,  gave  her  an  inquisitive 
glance. 

The  splash  of  hidden  fountains  diffused  a  pleasant  coolness 
in  the  chamber.  Spiral  wreaths  of  incense  curled  from  a 
bronze  tripod  into  the  flower-scented  ether.  The  throbbing 
of  muted  strings  from  harps  and  lutes,  mingling  with  the 
sombre  chants  of  distant  processions,  vibrated  through  the 
sun-kissed  haze,  producing  a  weird  and  almost  startling 
effect. 

After  a  pause  of  some  duration,  apparently  oblivious  of 
the  fact  that  the  announced  caller  was  waiting  without, 
Theodora  turned  to  Persephone,  brushing  with  one  white 
hand  a  stray  raven  lock  from  the  alabaster  forehead. 

"  Can  it  be  the  heat  or  the  poison  miasma  that  presages 
our  Roman  fever?  Never  has  my  spirit  been  so  oppressed 
as  it  is  to-day,  as  if  the  gloomy  messengers  from  Lethe's 


74     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

shore  were  enfolding  me  in  their  shadowy  pinions.  I  saw 
his  face  in  the  dream  of  the  night "  —  she  spoke  as  if  solilo 
quizing  —  "  it  was  as  the  face  of  one  long  dead  —  " 

She  paused  with  a  shudder. 

"  Of  whom  does  my  lady  speak?  "  Persephone  interposed 
with  a  swift  glance  at  her  mistress. 

"  The  pilgrim  who  crossed  my  path  to  his  own  or  my  un 
doing.  Has  he  been  heard  from  again?  " 

A  negative  gesture  came  in  response. 

"  His  garb  is  responsible  for  much,  "  replied  the  Circassian. 
"  The  city  fairly  swarms  with  his  kind  —  " 

The  intentional  contemptuous  sting  met  its  immediate 
rebuke. 

"  Not  his  kind,"  Theodora  flashed  back.  "  He  has  nothing 
m  common  with  those  others  save  the  garb  —  and  there  is 
more  beneath  it  than  we  wot  of  —  " 

"  The  Lady  Theodora's  judgment  is  not  to  be  gainsaid," 
the  Circassian  replied,  without  meeting  her  mistress'  gaze. 
"  Do  they  not  throng  to  her  bowers  by  the  legion  —  " 

"  A  pilgrimage  of  the  animals  to  Circe's  sty  —  each  eager 
to  be  transformed  into  his  own  native  state,"  Theodora  inter 
posed  contemptuously. 

"  Perchance  this  holy  man  is  in  reality  a  prince  from  some 
mythical,  fabled  land  —  come  to  Rome  to  resist  temptation 
and  be  forthwith  canonized  —  " 

Persephone's  mirth  suffered  a  check  by  Theodora's  reply. 

"  Stranger  things  have  happened.  All  the  world  comes  to 
Rome  on  one  business  or  another.  This  one,  however,  has 
not  his  mind  set  on  the  Beatitudes  —  " 

"  Nevertheless  he  dared  not  enter  the  forbidden  gates," 
the  Circassian  ventured  to  object. 

"  It  was  not  fear.  On  that  I  vouch.  Perchance  he  has 
a  vow.  Whatever  it  be  —  he  shall  tell  me  —  face  to  face 
—  and  here !  " 

"  But  if  the  holy  man  refuse  to  come?  " 


THE  SHRINE   OF   HEKATE         75 

Theodora's  trained  ear  did  not  miss  the  note  of  irony  in 
the  Circassian's  question. 

"  He  will  come!  "  she  replied  laconically. 

"  A  task  worthy  the  Lady  Theodora's  renown." 

"  You  deem  it  wonderful?  " 

"  If  I  have  read  the  pilgrim's  eyes  aright  —  " 

"  Perchance  your  own  sweet  eyes,  my  beautiful  Perse 
phone,  discoursed  to  him  something  on  that  night  that  caused 
misgivings  in  his  holy  heart,  and  made  him  doubt  your 
errand?"  Theodora  purred,  extending  her  white  arms  and 
regarding  the  Circassian  intently. 

Persephone  flushed  and  paled  in  quick  succession. 

"  On  that  matter  I  left  no  doubt  in  his  mind,"  she  said 
enigmatically. 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  during  which  an  inscrutable 
gaze  passed  between  Theodora  and  the  Circassian. 

"  Were  you  not  as  beautiful  as  you  are  evil,  my  Persephone", 
I  should  strangle  you,"  Theodora  at  last  said  very  quietly. 

The  Circassian's  face  turned  very  pale  and  there  was 
a  strange  light  in  her  eyes.  Her  memory  went  back  to  an 
hour  when,  during  one  of  the  periodical  feuds  between 
Marozia  and  her  younger  sister,  the  former  had  imprisoned 
Theodora  in  one  of  the  chambers  of  Castel  San  Angelo, 
setting  over  her  as  companion  and  gaoler  in  one  Persephone, 
then  in  Marozia's  service. 

The  terrible  encounter  between  Theodora  and  the  Cir 
cassian  in  the  locked  chamber,  when  only  the  timely  appear 
ance  of  the  guard  saved  each  from  destruction  at  the  hands 
of  the  other,  as  Theodora  tried  to  take  the  keys  of  her  prison 
from  Persephone,  had  never  left  the  latter's  mind.  Brave 
as  she  was,  she  had  nevertheless,  after  Marozia's  fall,  entered 
Theodora's  service,  and  the  latter,  admiring  the  spirit  of 
fearlessness  in  the  girl,  had  welcomed  her  in  her  household. 

"  I  am  ever  at  the  Lady  Theodora's  service,"  Persephone 
replied,  with  drooping  lids,  but  Theodora  caught  a  gleam 


76     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

of  tigerish  ferocity  beneath  those  silken  lashes  that  fired 
her  own  blood. 

"  Beware  —  lest  in  some  evil  hour  I  may  be  tempted  to 
finish  what  I  left  undone  in  the  Emperor's  Tomb ! "  she 
flashed  with  a  sudden  access  of  passion. 

"  The  Lady  Theodora  is  very  brave,"  Persephone  replied, 
as,  stirred  by  the  memory,  her  eyes  sank  into  those  of  her 
mistress. 

For  a  moment  they  held  each  other's  gaze,  then,  with  a 
generosity  that  was  part  of  her  complex  nature,  Theodora 
extended  her  hand  to  Persephone. 

"  Forgive  the  mood  —  I  am  strangely  wrought  up,"  she 
said.  "  Cannot  you  help  me  in  this  dilemma,  where  I  can 
trust  in  none?  " 

"  There  dwells  in  Rome  one  who  can  help  my  lady," 
Persephone  replied  with  hesitation;  "one  deeply  versed  in 
the  lore  and  mysteries  of  the  East." 

"  Who  is  this  man?  "    Theodora  queried  eagerly. 

"  His  name  is  Hormazd.  By  his  spells  he  can  change  the 
natural  event  of  things,  and  make  Fate  subservient  to  his 
decrees." 

"  Why  have  you  never  told  me  of  him  before?  " 

"  Because  the  Lady  Theodora's  will  seemed  to  do  as  much 
for  her  as  could,  to  my  belief,  the  sorcerer's  art! " 

The  implied  compliment  pleased  Theodora. 

"  Where  does  he  abide?  " 

"  In  the  Trastevere." 

"  What  does  he  for  those  who  seek  him?  " 

"  He  reads  the  stars  —  foretells  the  future  —  and,  with 
the  aid  of  strange  spells  of  which  he  is  master,  can  bring 
about  that  which  otherwise  would  be  unattainable  — " 

"  You  rouse  my  curiosity!    Tell  me  more  of  him." 

An  inscrutable  expression  passed  over  Persephone's  face. 

"  He  was  Marozia's  trusted  friend." 

A  frozen  silence  reigned  apace, 


THE   SHRINE  OF  HEKATE        77 

"  Did  he  foretell  that  which  was  to  happen?  "  Theodora 
spoke  at  last. 

"To  the  hour!" 

"  And  yet  —  forewarned  —  " 

"  Marozia,  grown  desperate  in  the  hatred  of  her  lord, 
derided  his  warnings." 

"  It  was  her  Fate.    Tell  me  more !  " 

"  He  has  visited  every  land  under  the  sun.  From  Thule 
to  Cathay  his  fame  is  known.  Strange  tales  are  told  of  him. 
No  one  knows  his  age.  He  seems  to  have  lived  always. 
As  he  appears  now  he  hath  ever  been.  They  say  he  has 
been  seen  hi  places  thousand  leagues  apart  at  the  same  time. 
Sometimes  he  disappears  and  is  not  heard  of  for  months. 
But  —  whoever  he  may  be  —  whatever  he  may  be  engaged 
in  —  at  the  stroke  of  midnight  that  he  must  suspend.  Then 
his  body  turns  rigid  as  a  corpse,  bereft  of  animation,  and 
his  spirit  is  withdrawn  into  realms  we  dare  not  even  dream 
of.  At  the  first  hour  of  the  morning  life  will  slowly  return. 
But  no  one  has  yet  dared  to  question  him,  where  he  has 
spent  those  dread  hours." 

Theodora  had  listened  to  Persephone's  tale  with  a  strange 
new  interest. 

"  How  long  has  this  Hormazd  —  or  whatever  his  name  — 
resided  in  Rome?  "  she  turned  to  the  Circassian. 

"  I  met  him  first  on  the  night  on  which  the  lady  Marozia 
summoned  him  to  the  summit  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb. 
There  he  abode  with  her  for  hours,  engaged  in  some  unholy 
incantation  and  at  last  conjured  up  such  a  tempest  over  the 
Seven  Hills,  as  the  city  of  Rome  had  not  experienced  since 
it  was  founded  by  the  man  from  Troy  —  " 

Persephone's  historical  deficiency  went  hand  hi  hand 
with  a  superstition  characteristic  of  the  age,  and  evoked 
no  comment  from  one  perchance  hardly  better,  informed 
with  regard  to  the  past. 

"  I  well  remember  the  night,"  Theodora  interposed. 


78     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  We  crept  down  into  the  crypts,  where  the  dog-headed 
Egyptian  god  keeps  watch  over  the  dead  Emperor,"  Perse 
phone  continued.  "  The  lady  Marozia  alone  remained  on 
the  summit  with  the  wizard  —  amidst  such  lightnings  and 
crashing  peals  of  thunder  and  a  hurricane  the  like  of  which 
the  oldest  inhabitants  do  not  remember  —  " 

"  I  shall  test  his  skill,"  Theodora  spoke  after  a  pause. 
"  Perchance  he  may  give  me  that  which  I  have  never 
known  —  " 

"  My  lady  would  consult  the  wizard?  "  Persephone  inter 
posed  eagerly. 

"  Such  is  my  intent." 

"  Shall  I  summon  him  to  your  presence?  " 

"I  shall  go  to  him!" 

In  Persephone's  countenance  surprise  and  fear  struggled 
for  mastery. 

"  Then  I  shall  accompany  my  lady  —  " 

"  I  shall  go  alone  and  unattended  —  " 

"  It  is  an  ill-favored  region,  where  the  sorcerer  dwells  —  " 

An  inscrutable  look  passed  into  Theodora's  eyes. 

"  Can  he  but  give  me  that  which  I  desire  I  shall  brave  the 
hazard,  be  it  ever  so  great." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  an  undertone.  Then  she 
added  imperiously : 

"  Go  and  summon  the  lord  Basil  and  bid  two  eunuchs 
attend  him  hither!  And  do  you  wait  with  them  within  call 
behind  those  curtains." 

Then,  as  Persephone  silently  piled  cushions  behind  her 
in  the  lion-armed  chair  and  withdrew  bowing,  Theodora 
murmured  to  herself : 

"  Hardly  can  I  trust  even  him  in  an  hour  so  fraught  with 
darkness  and  peril.  Yet  strive  as  he  will,  he  may  not  break 
the  chains  his  passion  has  woven  around  his  senses." 


CHAPTER   IX 


THE   GAME   OF  LOVE 

HE  pattering  of  footsteps  re 
sounded  on  the  marble  floor  of 
the  corridor  and  the  hangings 
once  more  parted,  revealing  the 
form  of  a  man  sombre  even  in 
the  shadows  which  seemed  part 
of  the  darkness  that  framed  his 
white  face. 

With  eyes  that  never  left  the 
woman's  graceful  form  the  vis 
itor  slowly  advanced  and,  concealing  his  chagrin  at  having 
been  kept  waiting  like  a  slave  in  the  anteroom,  bent  low  over 
Theodora's  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

She  had  seated  herself  on  a  divan  which  somewhat  shaded 
her  face  and  invited  him  with  a  mute  gesture  to  take  his  seat 
beside  her.  Persephone  and  the  eunuchs  hadleft  the  chamber. 
"  Fain  would  I  have  departed,  Lady  Theodora,  when  the 
maid  Persephone,  who  has  the  devil  in  her  eyes,  told  me 
that  the  Lady  Theodora  slept,"  Basil  spoke  as,  with  the  light 
of  a  fierce  passion  in  his  eyes,  he  sank  down  beside  the  won 
drous  form,  and  his  hot  breath  fanned  her  shoulder.  "  But 
my  tidings  brook  no  delay.  Closer,  fairest  lady,  that  your 
ear  alone  may  hear  this  new  perplexity  that  does  beset  us, 
for  it  concerns  that  which  lies  closest  to  our  heart,  and  the 
time  is  brief  —  " 

"  I  cannot  even  guess  your  tidings,"  replied  Theodora, 
withdrawing  herself  a  little  from  his  burning  gaze.  "  For 
days  mischance  has  emptied  all  her  quivers  at  me,  leaving  me 
not  a  dart  wherewith  to  strike." 


80     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  It  is  as  a  bolt  from  the  clear  blue,"  interposed  the  Grand 
Chamberlain.  "  Yet  —  how  were  we  to  reckon  with  that 
which  did  happen?  Every  detail  had  been  carefully  planned. 
In  the  excitement  and  turmoil  which  roared  and  surged  over 
the  Navona  the  task  could  not  fail  of  its  accomplishment  and 
he  who  was  to  speed  the  holy  man  to  his  doom  had  but  to 
plunge  into  that  seething  vortex  of  humanity  to  make  his 
escape.  Surely  the  foul  fiend  was  abroad  on  that  night  and 
stalked  about  visibly  to  our  undoing.  For  not  a  word  have  I 
been  able  to  get  out  of  II  Gobbo  who  raves  that  at  the  very 
moment  when  he  was  about  to  strike,  St.  John  himself 
towered  over  him,  paralyzed  his  efforts,  and  gave  him  such  a 
blow  as  sent  him  reeling  upon  the  turf.  Some  say,"  — 
the  speaker  added  meditatively,  "  it  was  a  pilgrim  —  " 

"  A  pilgrim?  "  Theodora  interposed,  a  sudden  gleam  in 
her  eyes.  "  A  pilgrim?  What  was  he  like?  " 

"  To  II  Gobbo  he  appeared  no  doubt  of  superhuman  height, 
else  had  he  not  affrighted  him.  For  the  bravo  is  no  coward  —  ' ' 

"  A  pilgrim,  you  say,"  Theodora  repeated,  meditatively. 

"  Whosoever  he  is,"  Basil  continued  after  a  pause,  "  he 
seems  to  scent  ample  entertainment  in  this  godly  city.  For, 
no  doubt  it  was  the  same  who  thwarted  by  his  timely  appear 
ance  the  abduction  of  the  Pontiff  by  certain  ruffians,  earning 
thereby  much  distinction  in  the  eyes  of  the  Senator  of  Rome 
who  has  appointed  him  captain  of  Castel  San  Angelo  —  and 
Gamba  in  whom  we  placed  our  trust  has  fled.  If  he  is  cap 
tured  —  If  he  should  confess  —  " 

The  color  had  died  out  of  Theodora's  cheeks  and  she  sat 
bolt  upright  as  a  statue  of  marble,  gazing  into  the  shadows 
with  great  wide  eyes,  as  in  a  low  voice,  hardly  audible  even 
to  her  visitor,  she  said : 

"  God !  Will  this  uncertainty  never  cease?  What  is  to 
be  done?  Speak !  —  For  I  confess,  I  am  not  myself  today."  — 

Basil  hesitated,  and  a  sudden  flame  leaped  into  his  eyes 
as  they  devoured  the  beauty  of  the  woman  beside  him,  and 


THEGAMEOFLOVE  81 

raising  to  his  lips  the  hand  that  lay  inert  on  the  saffron-hued 
cushion,  he  replied : 

"  The  lady  Theodora  has  many  who  do  her  bidding,  yet  is 
the  heart  of  none  as  true  as  his,  who  is  even  now  sitting 
beside  her.  Therefore  ask  of  me  whatever  you  will  and,  if 
a  blade  be  needed,  your  slightest  favor  will  fire  me  to  any 
deed,  — however  unnameable."  — • 

Lower  the  man  bent,  until  his  hot  breath  scorched  her  pale 
cheeks.  But  neither  by  word  nor  gesture  did  she  betray 
that  she  was  conscious  of  his  nearer  approach  as,  in  a  calm 
voice,  she  replied: 

"  Full  well  do  I  know  your  zeal  and  devotion,  my  lord  Basil. 
Yet  there  hangs  in  the  balance  the  keen  and  timely  stroke 
that  shall  secure  for  me  the  dominion  of  the  Seven  Hills  and 
the  Emperor's  Tomb.  For  failure  would  bring  in  its  wake 
that  which  would  be  harder  to  endure  than  death  itself. 
Therefore,"  she  added  slowly,  "  I  would  choose  one  whose 
devotion  is  only  equalled  by  his  blind  indifference  to  that 
which  I  am  minded  to  bring  about;  not  one  only  fired  with  a 
passion,  which  when  cooled  might  leave  nothing  but  fear 
and  hesitation  behind."  — 

"  Has  all  that  has  passed  between  us  left  you  with  so  ill 
an  opinion  of  me?  "  Basil  replied,  drawing  back  somewhat 
ostentatiously.  "  There  are  few  that  can  be  trusted  with 
that  which  must  be  done  —  and  trusted  blades  are  scarce." 

"  The  more  reason  that  we  choose  wisely  and  well,"  came 
the  reply  in  deliberate  tones.  "  How  much  longer  must 
I  suffer  the  indignity  which  this  stripling  dares  to  put  upon 
his  own  flesh  and  blood,  —  upon  myself,  who  has  striven 
for  this  dominion  with  all  the  fire  of  this  restless  soul?  How 
much  longer  must  I  sit  idly  by,  pondering  over  the  mystery 
that  enshrouds  Marozia's  untimely  end?  How  much 
longer  must  I  tremble  in  abject  fear  of  him  whom  the  Tus 
can's  churlishness  has  set  up  in  yonder  castello  and  who 
conspires  with  my  rival  to  gain  his  sinister  ends?  " 


82     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  By  what  sorcery  she  holds  him  captive,  I  cannot  tell," 
Basil  interposed.  "  Yet,  if  we  are  not  on  our  guard,  we  shall 
awaken  one  day  to  the  realization  that  even  the  fault  chance 
which  remains  to  us  now  has  passed  from  our  hands.  I 
doubt  not  but  that  Roxana  will  enlist  the  services  of  the 
stranger  who  in  the  space  of  a  week,  during  the  lord  Alberic's 
absence,  will  lord  it  over  the  city  of  Rome !  " 

With  a  smothered  cry  of  hate,  that  drove  from  Theodora's 
face  every  trace  of  her  former  mood,  she  bounded  upright. 

"  What  demon  of  madness  possesses  you,  my  lord  Basil, 
to  taunt  me  with  your  suspicions?  "  she  flashed. 

Basil  had  sped  his  shaft  at  random,  but  he  had  hit  the 
mark. 

In  suave  and  insinuating  tones,  without  relinquishing 
his  gaze  upon  the  woman,  he  replied : 

"  I  voice  but  my  fears,  Lady  Theodora,  and  the  urgency 
of  assembling  your  friends  under  the  banners  of  your  house. 
What  is  more  natural,"  he  continued  with  slow  and  sinister 
emphasis,  "  than  for  a  beautiful  woman  to  harbor  the  desire 
for  conquest,  and  to  profit  from  so  auspicious  a  throw  of 
fate  as  the  stranger's  espousing  her  part  against  an  equally 
beautiful,  hated  rival?  Is  not  the  inference  justified,  that, 
ignorant  of  the  merits  of  the  feud,  which  has  been  raging 
these  many  months,  he  will  take  the  part  of  the  one  whose 
beauty  had  compelled  the  Senator's  unwitting  tribute  - 
as  it  were?  " 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  watching  the  woman  before 
him  from  under  half-shut  lids,  then  continued  slowly: 

"  Roxana  is  consumed  with  the  desire  to  stake  soul  and 
body  upon  attaining  her  ends,  humbling  her  rival  in  the  dust 
and  set  her  foot  upon  her  neck.  Time  and  again  has  she 
defied  you !  At  the  banquet  she  gave  in  honor  of  the  Senator 
of  Rome,  when  one  of  the  guests  lamented  the  Lady  Theo 
dora's  absence  from  the  festal  board,  she  openly  boasted, 
that  in  youth  as  well  as  in  beauty,  in  strength  as  in  love, 


THEGAMEOFLOVE  83 

she  would  vanquish  Marozia's  sister  utterly  —  and  when 
one  of  the  guests,  commenting  upon  her  boast,  suggested 
with  a  smile  that  in  the  time  of  the  Emperor  Gallus  women 
fought  in  the  arena,  she  bared  her  arms  and  replied :  '  Are 
there  no  chambers  hi  this  demesne  where  a  woman  may 
strangle  her  rival?  '  " 

Theodora  had  listened  to  Basil's  recital,  white  to  the  lips. 
Her  bosom  heaved  and  a  strange  fire  burnt  in  her  eyes  as 
she  replied: 

"  Dares  she  utter  this  boast,  woman  to  woman?  "  — 

Basil,  checking  himself,  gave  a  shrug. 

"  Misinterpret  not  my  words,  dearest  lady,"  he  said  solic 
itously.  "  It  is  to  warn  you  that  I  came.  Alberic's  attitude 
is  no  longer  a  secret.  Roxana  is  leaving  no  stone  unturned 
to  drive  you  from  the  city,  to  encompass  your  death  —  and 
Alberic  is  swayed  by  strange  moods.  Roxana  is  growing 
bolder  each  day  and  the  woman  who  dares  challenge  the 
Lady  Theodora  is  no  coward." 

A  strange  look  passed  into  Theodora's  eyes. 

"  Three  days  hence,"  she  said,  "  I  mean  to  give  a  feast 
to  my  friends,  if,"  she  continued  with  lurid  mockery,  "  I 
can  still  number  such  among  those  who  flock  to  my  bowers. 
I  shall  ask  the  Lady  Roxana  to  grace  the  feast  with  her  pres 
ence  —  " 

A  puzzled  look  passed  into  Basil's  eyes. 

"  Deem  you  she  will  come?  " 

Theodora's  lips  curved  hi  a  smile. 

"  You  said  but  just  now,  my  lord,  the  woman  who  dares 
challenge  Theodora  is  no  coward  —  " 

"  Yet  —  as   your   guest  —  suspecting  —  knowing  —  " 

"  I  doubt  not,  my  lord,  she  is  well  informed,"  Theodora 
interposed  with  the  same  inscrutable  smile.  "  Yet  —  if 
she  is  as  brave  as  she  is  beautiful  —  she  will  come  —  doubt 
not,  my  lord  —  she  will  come  —  " 

"  Nevertheless,  I  question  the  wisdom,"  Basil  ventured 


84     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

to  interpose.  "  A  sudden  spark  —  from  nowhere  —  who 
will  quench  the  holocaust?  " 

"  When  Roxana  and  Theodora  meet,  —  woman  to  woman 
— ah,  trust  me,  my  lord,  it  will  be  a  festive  occasion  —  one 
long  to  be  remembered.  Perchance  you,  my  lord,  who 
boast  of  a  large  circle  know  young  Fabio  of  the  Cavalli  —  a 
comely  youth  with  the  air  and  manners  of  a  girl.  Persephone, 
my  Circassian,  could  strangle  him." 

"  I  know  the  youth,  Lady  Theodora,"  Basil  interposed  with 
a  puzzled  air.  "  What  of  him?  " 

"  He  once  did  me  the  honor  to  imagine  himself  in  love 
with  me.  Did  he  not  pursue  me  with  amorous  sighs  and 
burning  glances  and  oaths  —  my  lord  —  such  oaths !  Cer 
berus  would  wince  in  Tartarus  could  he  hear  but  one  of 
them  —  " 

Basil's  lips  straightened  and  his  eyelids  narrowed. 

"  Pardon,  Lady  Theodora,  if  I  do  not  quite  follow  the  trend 
of  your  reminiscent  mood  —  " 

Theodora  smiled. 

"  You  will  presently,  my  lord  —  believe  me  —  you  will 
presently.  When  I  became  satiated  with  him  I  sent  him 
on  his  way  and  straightway  he  sought  my  beautiful  rival. 
I  am  told  she  is  very  fond  of  him  —  " 

A  strange  nervousness  had  seized  Basil. 

"  I  shall  bid  him  to  the  feast,"  Theodora  continued. 
"'Twere  scant  courtesy  to  request  the  Lady  Roxana's  presence 
without  that  of  her  lover.  And  more,  my  lord.  Since  you 
boast  your  devotion  to  me  in  such  unequivocal  terms  —  your 
task  it  shall  be  to  bring  as  your  honored  guest  the  valiant 
stranger  who  took  so  brave  a  part  in  aiding  the  Lord  Alberic 
to  regain  his  prisoner,  and  who,  within  a  week,  is  to  be  the 
new  captain  of  Castel  San  Angelo."  — 

Basil  was  twitching  nervously. 

"  Lady  Theodora,  without  attempting  to  fathom  the  mood 
which  prompts  the  request,  am  I  to  traverse  the  city  in  quest 


THE  GAME   OF  LOVE  85 

of  a  churl   who  has  hypnotized  the  Lord  Alberic  and  has 
destroyed  our  fondest  hopes?  "  - 

"  That  it  shall  be  for  myself  to  decide,  my  Lord  Basil," 
Theodora  replied  with  her  inscrutable   smile.     "I  do   not 
desire  you  to  fathom  my  mood,  but  to  bring  to  me  this  man. 
And  believe  me,  my  Lord  Basil — as  you  value  my  favor  - 
you  will  find  and  bring  him  to  me !  " 

Half  turning  she  flung  a  light  vesture  from  off  her  bosom 
and  the  faint  light  showed  not  the  set  Medusa  face  that 
meditated  unnameable  things,  but  eyes  alight  with  desire 
and  a  mouth  quivering  for  kisses. 

As  he  gazed,  Basil  was  suddenly  caught  in  the  throes  of 
his  passion.  He  clutched  at  the  ottoman's  carved  arms, 
striving  to  resist  the  tide  of  emotion  that  tossed  him  like  a 
helpless  bark  in  its  clutches  and,  suddenly  bearing  down 
every  restraint,  his  arms  v/ent  round  the  supple  form  as 
he  crushed  her  to  him  with  a  wild  uncontrolled  passion, 
bending  her  back,  and  his  eyes  blazed  with  a  baleful  fire  into 
her  own,  while  his  hot  kisses  scorched  her  lips. 

She  struggled  violently,  desperately  in  his  embrace,  and  at 
last  succeeded,  bruised  and  crushed,  in  releasing  herself. 

"  Beast!  Coward!  "  she  flashed,  "  Can  you  not  bridle  the 
animal  within  you?  I  have  it  in  mind  to  kill  you  here  and 
now." 

Basil's  face  was  ashen.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot.  The 
touch  of  her  lips,  of  her  hands,  had  maddened  him.  He 
groaned,  and  his  arms  fell  limply  by  his  side.  Presently  he 
raised  his  head  and,  his  eyes  aflame  with  the  madness  of 
jealousy,  he  snarled: 

"  So  I  did  not  go  amiss,  when  I  long  suspected1  another  in 
the  bower  of  roses.  Who  is  he?  Tell  me  quickly,  that  I  may 
at  least  assuage  this  hatred  of  mine,  for  its  measure  over 
flows." 

His  hand  closed  on  his  dagger's  hilt  that  was  hidden  by 


86     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

his  tunic,  but  Theodora  rose  and  her  own  eyes  flashed  like 
naked  swords  as  with  set  face  she  said : 

"  Have  you  not  yet  learned,  my  lord,  how  vain  it  is  to 
probe  the  clouds  of  my  mind  for  the  unseen  wind  that  stirs 
behind  its  curtains?  Aye  —  crouch  at  my  feet,  you  miserable 
slave,  gone  mad  with  the  dream  of  my  favor  possessed  and 
wake  to  learn,  that,  as  Theodora's  enchantments  compel  all 
living  men,  nevertheless  she  gives  herself  unto  him  she 
pleases.  I  tell  you,  you  jealous  fool,  that,  although  I  serve 
the  goddess  of  night  yonder,  never  till  yesterday  was  my 
heart  touched  by  the  divine  enchantments  of  Venus,  nor 
have  the  lips  ever  closed  on  mine,  that  could  kindle  the  spark 
to  set  my  breast  afire  with  longing." 

"  Ah  me !  "  she  continued,  speaking  as  though  she  thought 
aloud.  "  Will  Hekate  ever  grant  me  to  find  amongst  these 
husks  of  passion  and  plotting  that  great  love  whereof  once  I 
dreamed,  that  love  which  I  am  seeking  and  which  ever  flits 
before  me,  disembodied  and  unattainable,  like  a  ghost  in 
the  purple  twilight?  Or,  must  I  wander,  ever  loved  yet 
unloving,  until  I  am  gathered  to  the  realms  of  shadows, 
robbed  of  my  desire  by  Death's  cold  hand?  " 

She  paused,  her  lips  a-quiver,  the  while  Basil  watched  her 
with  half-closed  eyes,  filled  with  sudden  and  ominous  brood 
ing. 

"  Who  is  the  favored  one? "  he  queried  darkly,  "  who 
came  and  saw  and  conquered,  while  others  of  long-tried 
loyalty  are  starving  at  the  fount?  " 

She  gave  him  an  inscrutable  glance,  then  answered  quickly: 

"  A  man  willing  to  risk  life  and  honor  and  all  to  serve  me 
as  I  would  be  served." 

Basil  gave  her  a  baffled  look. 

"  Can  he  achieve  the  impossible?  " 

Theodora  gave  a  shrug. 

"  To  him  who  truly  loves  nothing  is  impossible.    You  are 


THEGAMEOFLOVE  87 

the  trusted  friend  of  the  Senator  who  encompasses  my 
undoing  —  need  I  say  more?  " 

"  Were  I  not,  Lady  Theodora,  in  seeming,  —  who  knows, 
but  that  your  blood  would  long  have  dyed  this  Roman  soil, 
or  some  dark  crypt  contained  your  wonderful  beauty?  Bide 
but  the  time  —  " 

An  impatient  wave  of  Theodora's  hand  interrupted  the 
speaker. 

"Time  has  me  now!  Will  there  ever  be  an  end  to  this 
uncertainty?  " 

"  You  have  not  yet  told  me  the  name  of  him  whose  sudden 
advent  on  the  stage  has  brought  about  so  marvellous  a  trans 
formation,"  Basil  said  with  an  air  of  baffled  passion  and  rage. 

"  What  matters  the  name,  my  lord?  "  Theodora  interposed 
with  a  sardonic  smile. 

"  A  nameless  stranger  then,"  he  flashed  with  a  swiftness 
that  staggered  even  the  woman,  astute  as  she  was. 

"  I  said  not  so  — -  " 

"  A  circumstance  that  should  recommend  him  to  our  con 
sideration,"  he  muttered  darkly.  "  I  shall  find  him  —  and 
bring  him  to  the  feast  —  " 

There  was  something  in  his  voice  that  roused  the  tigress 
in  the  woman. 

"  By  the  powers  of  hell,"  she  turned  on  the  man  whose 
fatal  guess  had  betrayed  her  secret,  "  if  you  but  dare  touch 
one  hair  of  his  head  —  " 

Basil  raised  his  hand  disdainfully. 

"Be  calm,  Lady  Theodora!  The  Grand  Chamberlain 
soils  not  his  steel  with  such  carrion,"  he  said  with  a  tone 
of  contempt  that  struck  home.  "  And  now  I  will  be  plain 
with  you,  Lady  Theodora.  All  things  have  their  price.  Will 
you  grant  to  me  what  I  most  desire  in  return  for  that  which 
is  ever  closest  to  your  heart?  " 

Theodora  gave  a  tantalizing  shrug. 

"  Like  the  Fata  Morgana  of  the  desert,  I  am  all  things 


88     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

to  all  men,"  she  said.  "  Remember,  my  lord,  I  must  look 
for  that  which  I  desire  wherever  I  may  find  it,  since  life 
and  the  future  are  uncertain." 

There  was  a  silence  during  which  each  seemed  intent 
upon  fathoming  the  secret  thoughts  of  the  other. 

It  was  Basil  who  spoke. 

"  What  of  that  other?  " 

Theodora  had  arisen. 

"  Bring  him  to  me  —  three  days  hence  —  as  my  guest. 
Thrice  has  he  crossed  my  path.  —  Thrice  has  he  defied 
me !  —  I  have  that  in  store  for  him  at  which  men  shall  marvel 
for  all  time  to  come !  " 

Basil  bent  over  the  white  hand  and  kissed  it.  Then  he 
took  his  leave.  Had  he  seen  the  expression  in  the  woman's 
eyes  as  the  heavy  curtains  closed  behind  him,  it  would  have 
made  the  Grand  Chamberlain  pause. 

Theodora  passed  to  where  the  bronze  mirror  hung  and 
stood  long  before  it,  with  hands  clasped  behind  her  shapely 
head,  wrapt  in  deepest  thought. 

And  while  she  gazed  on  her  mirrored  loveliness,  an  evil 
light  sprang  up  in  her  eyes  and  all  her  mouth's  soft  lines 
froze  to  a  mould  of  dreaming  evil,  as  she  turned  to  where 
the  image  of  Hekate  gazed  down  upon  her  with  inhuman 
calm  upon  its  face,  and,  holding  out  shimmering,  imploring 
arms,  she  cried: 

"  Help  me  now,  dread  goddess  of  darkness,  if  ever  you 
looked  with  love  upon  her  whose  prayers  have  been  directed 
to  you  for  good  and  for  evil.  Fire  the  soul  of  him  I  desire, 
as  he  stands  before  me,  that  he  lose  reason,  honor,  and  man 
hood,  as  the  price  of  my  burning  kisses  —  that  he  become 
my  utter  slave." 

.  She  clapped  her  hands  and  Persephone  appeared  from 
behind  the  curtains. 

"  For  once  Fate  is  my  friend,"  she  turned  with  flashing 
eyes  to  the  Circassian.  "  Before  his  departure  to  the  shrines 


THE   GAME  OF   LOVE  89 

of  the  Archangel,  Alberic  has  appointed  this  nameless  stranger 
captain  of  Castel  San  Angelo.  Go  —  find  him  and  bring 
him  to  me !  Now  we  shall  see,"  she  added,  "  if  all  this 
beauty  of  mine  shall  prevail  against  his  manhood.  Your 
eyes  express  doubt,  my  sweet  Persephone?  " 

Theodora  had  raised  herself  to  her  full  height.  She 
looked  regal  indeed  —  a  wonderful  apparition.  What  man 
lived  there  to  resist  such  loveliness  of  face  and  form? 

Persephone,  too,  seemed  to  feel  the  woman's  magic, 
for  her  tone  was  less  confident  when  she  replied: 

"  Such  beauty  as  the  Lady  Theodora's  surely  the  world 
has  never  seen." 

"  I  shall  conquer  —  by  dread  Hekate,"  Theodora  flashed, 
flushed  by  Persephone's  unwitting  tribute.  "  He  shall 
open  for  me  the  portals  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb,  he  shall  sue 
at  my  feet  for  my  love  —  and  obtain  his  guerdon.  Not  a 
word  of  this  to  anyone,  my  Persephone  —  least  of  all,  the 
Lord  Basil.  Bring  the  stranger  to  me  by  the  postern  —  " 

"  But  —  if  he  refuse?  " 

There  was  something  in  Persephone's  tone  that  stung 
Theodora's  soul  to  the  quick. 

"  He  will  not  refuse." 

Persephone  bowed  and  departed,  and  for  some  time 
Theodora's  dark  inscrutable  eyes  brooded  on  the  equally 
inscrutable  face  of  the  goddess  of  the  Underworld,  which 
was  just  then  touched  by  a  fugitive  beam  of  sunlight  and 
seemed  to  nod  mysteriously. 


CHAPTER  X 


A  SPIRIT  PAGEANT 

HEN,  on  the  day  succeeding  his 
appointment  Tristan  returned 
to  the  Inn  of  the  Golden  Shield 
he  felt  as  one  in  a  trance.  Like 
a  puppet  of  Fate  he  had  been 
plunged  into  the  seething  mael 
strom  of  feudal  Rome.  He 
hardly  realized  the  import  of 
the  scene  in  which  he  had  played 
so  prominent  a  part.  He  had 
acted  upon  impulse,  hardly  knowing  what  it  was  all  about. 
Dimly  at  intervals  it  flashed  through  his  consciousness, 
dimly  he  remembered  facing  two  youths,  the  one  the  Senator 
of  Rome  —  the  other  the  High  Priest  of  Christendom,  even 
though  a  prisoner  in  the  Lateran.  Vaguely  he  recalled 
the  words  that  had  been  spoken  between  them,  vaguely 
he  recalled  the  fact  that  the  Senator  of  Rome  had  commended 
him  for  having  saved  the  city,  offering  him  appointment, 
holding  out  honor  and  preferment,  if  he  would  enter  his 
service.  Vaguely  he  remembered  bending  his  knee  before 
the  proud  son  of  Marozia  and  accepting  his  good  offices. 

In  the  guest-chamber  Tristan  found  pilgrims  from  every 
land  assembled  round  the  tables  discoursing  upon  the  won 
ders  and  perils  hidden  hi  the  strange  and  shifting  corridors 
of  Rome.  Not  a  few  had  witnessed  the  scene  in  which  he 
had  so  conspicuously  figured  and,  upon  recognizing  him, 
regarded  him  with  shy  glances,  while  commenting  upon 


A   SPIRIT  PAGEANT  91 

the  prevailing  state  of  unrest,  the  periodical  seditions  and 
outbreaks  of  the  Romans. 

Tristan  listened  to  the  buzz  and  clamor  of  their  voices, 
gleaning  here  and  there  some  scattered  bits  of  knowledge 
regarding  Roman  affairs. 

He  could  now  review  more  calmly  the  events  of  the  pre 
ceding  day.  Fortune  seemed  to  have  favored  him  indeed,  in 
that  she  had  led  him  across  the  path  of  the  Senator  of  Rome. 

Thus  Tristan  set  out  once  again,  to  make  the  rounds  of 
worship  and  obedience.  These  absolved,  he  wandered  aim 
lessly  about  the  great  city,  losing  himself  hi  her  ruins  and 
gardens,  while  he  strove  in  vain  to  take  an  interest  in  what 
he  beheld,  rather  distracted  than  amused  by  the  Babel-like 
confusion  which  surrounded  him  on  all  sides. 

Nevertheless,  once  more  upon  the  piazzas  and  tortuous 
streets  of  Rome,  his  pace  quickened.  His  pulses  beat  faster. 
At  times  he  did  not  feel  his  feet  upon  those  stony  ways  which 
Peter  and  Paul  had  trod,  and  many  another  who,  like  himself, 
had  come  to  Rome  to  be  crucified.  People  stared  at  his  dark 
and  sombre  form  as  he  passed.  Now  and  then  he  was 
retarded  by  chanting  processions,  that  wound  then*  inter 
minable  coils  through  the  tortuous  streets,  pilgrims  from  all 
the  world,  the  various  orders  of  monks  in  the  habits  peculiar 
to  their  orders,  wine-venders,  water-carriers,  men-at-arms, 
sbirri,  and  men  of  doubtful  calling.  Sacred  banners  floated 
in  the  sunlit  air  and  incense  curled  its  graceful  spiral  wreaths 
into  the  cloudless  Roman  ether. 

Surely  Rome  offered  a  wide  field  for  ambition.  A  man 
might  raise  himself  to  a  certain  degree  by  subservience  to 
some  powerful  prince,  but  he  must  continue  to  serve  that 
prince,  or  he  fell  and  would  never  aspire  to  independent 
domination,  where  hereditary  power  was  recognized  by  the 
people  and  lay  at  the  foundation  of  all  acknowledged  author 
ity.  It  was  only  in  Central  Italy,  and  especially  in  Romagna 
and  the  States  of  the  Church,  where  a  principle  antagonistic 


92     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

to  all  hereditary  claims  existed  in  the  very  nature  of  the 
Papal  power,  so  that  any  adventurer  might  hope,  either  by 
his  individual  genius  or  courage,  or  by  services  rendered  to 
those  in  authority,  to  raise  himself  to  independent  rule  or  to 
that  station  which  was  only  attached  to  a  superior  by  the  thin 
and  worn-out  thread  of  feudal  tenure. 

Rome  was  the  field  still  open  to  the  bold  spirit,  the  keen 
and  clear-seeing  mind.  Rome  was  the  table  on  which  the 
boldest  player  was  sure  to  win  the  most.  With  every  change 
of  the  papacy  new  combinations,  and,  consequently,  new 
opportunities  must  arise.  Here  a  man  may,  as  elsewhere,  be 
required  to  serve,  hi  order  at  length  to  command.  But,  if  he 
did  not  obtain  power  at  length,  it  was  his  fault  or  Fortune's, 
and  in  either  event  he  must  abide  the  consequences. 

Revolving  in  his  mind  these  matters,  and  wondering  what 
the  days  to  come  would  hold,  Tristan  permitted  himself  to 
wander  aimlessly  through  the  desolation  which  arose  on  all 
sides  about  him. 

Passing  by  the  Forum  and  the  Colosseum,  ruins  piled  upon 
ruins,  he  wandered  past  San  Gregorio,  where,  in  the  garden, 
lie  the  remains  of  the  Servian  Porta  Capena,  by  which  St. 
Paul  first  entered  Rome.  The  Via  Appia,  lined  with  vine 
yards  and  fruit-trees,  shedding  their  blossoms  on  many  an 
ancient  tomb,  led  the  solitary  pilgrim  from  the  memories  of 
the  present  to  the  days,  when  the  light  of  the  early  Christian 
Church  burned  like  a  flickering  taper  hidden  low  in  Roman 
soil. 

The  ground  sweeping  down  on  either  side  hi  gentle,  but 
well-defined  curves,  led  the  vision  over  the  hills  of  Rome  and 
into  her  valleys.  Beneath  a  cloudless,  translucent  sky  the 
city  was  caught  in  bold  shafts  of  crystal  light,  revealing  her  in 
so  strong  a  relief  that  it  seemed  like  a  piece  of  exquisite 
sculpture. 

Fronting  the  Coelian,  crowned  with  the  temple  church  of 
San  Stefano  in  Rotondo,  fringed  round  with  tall  and  graceful 


A   SPIRIT  PAGEANT  93 

poplars,  rose  the  immeasurable  ruins  of  Caracalla's  Baths, 
seeming  more  than  ever  the  work  of  titans,  as  Tristan  saw 
them,  shrouded  hi  deep  shadows  above  the  old  churches  of 
San  Nereo  and  San  Basilio,  shining  like  white  huts,  a  stone's 
throw  from  the  mighty  walls.  Beyond,  as  a  beacon  of  the 
Christian  world  in  ages  to  come,  on  the  site  of  the  ancient 
Circus  of  Nero,  arose  the  Basilica  of  Constantino,  still  in  its 
pristine  simplicity,  ere  the  genius  of  Michel  Angelo,  Bramante 
and  Sangallo  transformed  it  into  the  magnificence  of  the 
present  St.  Peter's. 

For  miles  around  stretched  the  Aurelian  walls,  here  fallen 
hi  low  rums,  there  still  rising  in  their  proud  strength.  Weath 
ered  to  every  shade  of  red,  orange,  and  palest  lemon,  they 
still  showed  much  of  their  ancient  beauty  near  the  closed 
Latin  gate.  High  towers,  arched  galleries  and  battlements 
cast  a  broad  band  of  shade  upon  a  line  of  peach  trees  whose 
blossoms  had  opened  out  to  the  touch  of  the  summer  breeze. 

Beneath  Tristan's  feet,  unknown  to  him,  lay  the  sepulchral 
chambers  of  pagan  patricians,  and  the  winding  passage 
tombs  of  the  Scipios.  Out  of  the  sunshine  of  the  vineyard 
Tristan's  curiosity  led  him  into  the  dusk  of  the  Columbaria 
of  Pomponius  Hylas,  full  of  stucco  altar  tombs.  He  de 
scended  into  the  lower  chambers  with  arched  corridors  and 
vaulted  roofs  where,  hi  the  loculi,  stood  terra-cotta  jars 
holding  the  ashes  of  the  freedmen  and  musicians  of  Tiberius 
with  their  servants,  even  to  their  cook. 

Returning  full  of  wonder  to  the  golden  light  of  day,  Tristan 
retraced  his  steps  once  again  over  the  Appian  Way.  Passing 
the  ruined  Circus  of  Maxentius,  across  smooth  fields  of 
grass,  he  saw  the  fortress  tomb  of  Caecilia  Metella,  set  grandly 
upon  the  hill.  It  appeared  to  break  through  the  sunshine, 
its  marble  surface  of  a  soft  cream  color,  looking  more  like  the 
shrine  of  some  immortal  goddess  of  the  Campagna  than  the 
tomb  of  a  Roman  matron. 

And,  as  he  wandered  along  the  Appian  Way,  past  the  site 


94     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

of  lava  pools  from  Mount  Alba,  remains  of  ancient  monuments 
lay  thicker  by  the  roadside.  Prostrate  statues  appeared  in  a 
setting  of  wild  flowers.  Sculptured  heads  gazed  out  from 
half-hidden  tombs,  while  one  watch-tower  after  another  rose 
out  of  the  undulating  expanse  of  the  Campagna. 

To  Tristan  the  memories  of  an  ancient  empire  which  clung 
to  the  place  held  but  little  significance. 

Here  emperors  had  been  carried  by  in  their  litters  to  Albano. 
Victorious  generals  returning  in  their  chariots  from  the 
south,  drove  between  these  avenues  of  cypress-guarded 
tombs  to  Rome.  The  body  of  the  dead  Augustus  had  been 
brought  with  great  following  from  Bovilae  to  the  Palatine, 
as  before  him  Sulla  had  been  borne  along  to  Rome  amid 
the  sound  of  trumpets  and  tramp  of  horsemen.  Near  the 
fourth  milestone  stood  Seneca's  villa,  where  he  received 
his  death  warrant  from  an  emissary  of  Nero,  and  nearby 
was  that  of  his  wife  who,  by  her  own  desire,  bravely  shared 
his  fate. 

And,  last  to  haunt  the  Appian  Way  in  the  spirit  pageant 
of  the  Golden  Age,  a  memory  destined  to  lie  dormant  till 
the  dawn  of  the  Renaissance,  was  Paul  the  Apostle,  the  tent- 
maker  from  Tarsus,  who  entered  Rome  while  Nero  reigned 
in  the  white  marble  city  of  Augustus  and  suffered  martyr 
dom  for  the  Faith. 

.It  was  verging  towards  evening  when  Tristan's  feet  again 
bore  him  past  the  stupendous  ruins  of  the  Colosseum,  through 
the  roofless  upper  galleries  of  which  streamed  the  light  of 
the  sinking  sun. 

After  reaching  the  Forum,  almost  deserted  by  this  hour, 
save  for  a  few  belated  ramblers,  he  seated  himself  on  a 
marble  block  and  tried  to  collect  his  thoughts,  at  the  same 
time  drinking  in  the  picture  which  unrolled  itself  before  his 
gaze. 

If  Rome  was  indeed,  as  the  chroniclers  of  the  Middle 
Ages  styled  her,  "  Caput  Mundi,"  the  Forum  was  the  centre 


A   SPIRIT   PAGEANT  95 

of  Rome.  From  this  centre  Rome  threw  out  and  informed 
her  various  feelers,  farther  and  farther  radiating  in  all  direc 
tions,  as  she  swelled  out  with  greatness,  drawing  her  sus 
tenance  first  from  her  sacred  hills  and  groves,  then  from  the 
very  marbles  and  granites  of  the  mountains  of  Asia  and 
Africa,  from  the  lives  of  all  sorts  of  peoples,races  and  nations. 
And  like  the  Emperor  Constantine,  as  we  are  told  by  Am- 
mianus  Marcellinus,  on  beholding  the  Forum  from  the 
Rostra  of  Domitian,  stood  wonder-stricken,  so  Tristan,  even 
at  this  period  of  decay,  was  amazed  at  the  grandeur  of  the 
ruins  which  bore  witness  to  Rome's  former  greatness. 

The  sound  of  the  Angelus,  whose  silvery  chimes  per 
meated  the  tomb-like  stillness,  roused  Tristan  from  his 
reveries. 

He  arose  and  continued  upon  his  way,  until  he  found 
himself  in  the  square  fronting  the  ancient  Basilica  of  Con 
stantine. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  it  was  a  Vigil  of  the  Church, 
popular  exhibitions  of  all  sorts  were  set  upon  the  broad 
flagstones  before  St.  Peter's.  Street  dancing  girls  indulged 
on  every  available  spot  in  those  gliding  gyrations,  so  elo 
quently  condemned  by  the  worthy  Ammianus  Marcellinus 
of  orderly  and  historical  memory.  Booths  crammed  with 
relics  of  doubtful  authenticity,  baskets  filled  with  fruits  or 
flowers,  pictorial  representations  of  certain  martyrs  of  the 
Church,  basking  in  haloes  of  celestial  light,  tempted  in  every 
direction  the  worldly  and  unworldly  spectators.  Cooks 
perambulated,  their  shops  upon  their  backs,  merchants 
shouted  their  wares,  wine-sellers  taught  Bacchanalian  phil 
osophy  from  the  tops  of  their  casks;  poets  recited  spurious 
compositions  which  they  offered  for  sale;  philosophers  in 
dulged  in  argumentations  destined  to  convert  the  wavering, 
or  to  perplex  the  ignorant.  Incessant  motion  and  noise 
seemed  to  be  the  sole  aim  and  purpose  of  the  crowd  which 
thronged  the  square. 


96     UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Nothing  could  be  more  picturesque  than  the  distant  view 
of  the  joyous  scene,  this  Carnival  in  Midsummer,  as  it  were. 

The  deep  red  rays  of  the  westering  sun  cast  then-  radiance, 
partly  from  behind  the  Basilica,  over  the  vast  multitude 
in  the  piazza..  In  unrivalled  splendor  the  crimson  light 
tinted  the  water  that  purled  from  the  fountain  of  Bishop 
Symmachus.  Its  roof  of  gilded  bronze,  supported  by  six 
porphyry  columns,  was  enclosed  by  small  marble  screens 
on  which  griffins  were  carved,  its  corners  ornamented  by 
gilded  dolphins  and  peacocks  in  bronze.  The  water  flowed 
into  a  square  basin  from  out  of  a  bronze  pine  cone  which 
may  have  come  from  Hadrian's  Mausoleum.  Bathed  in 
the  brilliant  glow  the  smooth  porphyry  colonnades  reflected, 
chameleon-like,  ethereal  and  varying  hues.  The  white 
marble  statues  became  suffused  with  delicate  rose,  and 
the  trees  gleamed  in  the  innermost  of  their  leafy  depths  as 
if  steeped  hi  the  exhalations  of  a  golden  mist. 

Contrasting  strangely  with  the  wondrous  radiance  around 
it,  the  bronze  pine-tree  in  the  centre  of  the  piazza,  rose  up 
in  gloomy  shadow,  indefinite  and  exaggerated.  The  wide 
facade  of  the  Basilica  cast  its  great  depth  of  shade  into  the 
midst  of  the  light  which  dominated  the  scene. 

Tristan  stood  for  a  time  gazing  into  the  glowing  sky,  then 
he  slowly  made  his  way  towards  the  Basilica,  the  edifice 
which  commemorated  the  establishment  of  Christianity  as 
the  state  religion  of  Rome,  as  in  its  changes  it  has  reflected 
every  change  wrought  hi  the  spirit  of  the  new  worship  up 
to  the  present  hour. 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE    DENUNCIATION 

HE  Basilica  of  Constantine  no 
longer  retained  its  pristine  splen 
dor,  its  pristine  purity  as  in  the 
days,  ere  the  revival  of  paganism 
by  the  Emperor  Julian  the  Apos 
tate  had  put  a  sudden  and  im 
pressive  check  upon  the  mere 
tricious  defilement  of  the  glory, 
for  which  it  was  built. 

The  exterior  began  to  show 
signs  of  decay.  The  interior,  too,  had  changed  with  the 
inexorable  trend  of  the  times.  The  solemn  recesses  were 
filled  with  precious  relics.  Many  hued  tapers  surrounded 
the  glorious  pillars,  and  eastern  tapestries  wreathed  their 
fringes  round  the  massive  altars. 

As  Tristan  entered  the  incense-saturated  dusk  of  St. 
Peter's,  the  first  part  of  the  service  had  just  been  concluded. 
The  last  faint  echoes  from  the  voices  in  the  choir  still  hovered 
upon  the  air,  and  the  silent  crowds  of  worshippers  were  still 
grouped  in  their  listening  attitudes  and  absorbed  in  their 
devotions. 

The  only  light  was  bestowed  by  the  evening  sun,  duskily 
illuminating  the  emblazoned  windows,  or  by  the  glimmer 
of  lamps  hi  distant  shrines,  hung  with  sable  velvet  and 
attended  each  by  its  own  group  of  ministering  priests. 

Struck  with  an  indefinable  awe  Tristan  looked  about. 
At  first  he  only  realized  the  great  space,  the  four  long  rows 
of  closely  set  columns,  and  the  great  triumphal  arch  which 


98     UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

framed  the  mosaics  of  the  apse,  where  Constantine  stood 
in  the  clouds  offering  his  Basilica  to  the  Saviour  and  St. 
Peter.  Then  he  looked  towards  the  sacred  shrines  above 
the  Apostle's  grave,  where  lamps  burned  incessantly  and 
cast  a  dazzling  halo  above  the  high  altar,  reflected  in  the 
silver  paving  of  the  presbytery  and  on  the  golden  gates  and 
images  of  the  Confessio.  Immediately  behind  the  altar 
was  revealed  a  long  panel  of  gold,  studded  with  gems  and 
ornaments,  with  figures  of  Christ  and  the  Apostles,  a  native 
offering  from  the  Emperor  Valentinian  III.  The  high  altar 
and  its  brilliant  surroundings  were  seen  from  the  nave 
between  a  double  row  of  twisted  marble  columns,  white  as 
snow.  A  beam  covered  with  plates  of  silver  united  them 
and  supported  great  silver  images  of  the  Saviour,  the  Virgin 
and  the  Apostles  with  lilies  and  candelabra. 

To  their  shrines, to  do  homage,  had  in  time  come  the  Kings 
from  all  the  earth:  Oswy,  King  of  the  Northumbrians, 
Csedwalla,  King  of  the  West  Saxons,  Coenred,  King  of  the 
Mercians,  and  with  him  his  son  Sigher,  King  of  the  East 
Saxons.  Even  Macbeth  is  said  to  have  made  the  pilgrimage. 
Ethelwulf  came  in  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century,  and  with 
him  came  his  son  Alfred.  In  the  arcades  beneath  the  col 
umned  vestibule  of  the  Basilica,  tomb  succeeded  tomb. 
Here  the  popes  were  buried,  Leo  I,  the  Great,  being  first 
in  line,  the  Saxon  Pilgrim  Kings,  the  Emperors  Honorius 
III  and  Theodosius  II,  regarding  whom  St.  John  Chrysos- 
tomus  has  written:  "  Emperors  were  proud  to  stand  in  the 
hall  keeping  guard  at  the  fisherman's  door." 

During  the  interval  between  the  divisions  of  the  service, 
Tristan,  like  many  of  those  present,  found  his  interest  di 
rected  towards  the  relics,  which  were  inclosed  in  a  silver 
cabinet  with  crystal  doors  and  placed  above  the  high  altar. 
Although  it  was  impossible  to  obtain  a  satisfactory  view  of 
these  ecclesiastical  treasures,  they  nevertheless  occupied 
his  attention  till  it  was  diverted  by  the  appearance  of  a  monk 


THE    DENUNCIATION  99 

in   the  habit   of   the   Benedictines,   who   had  mounted   the 
richly  carved  pulpit  fixed  between  two  pillars. 

As  far  as  Tristan  was  enabled  to  follow  the  trend  of  the 
sermon  it  teemed  with  allusions  to  the  state  of  society  and 
religion  as  it  prevailed  throughout  the  Christian  world,  and 
especially  in  the  city  of  the  Pontiff.  By  degrees  the  monk's 
eloquence  took  on  darker  and  more  terrible  tints,  as  he  seemed 
slowly  to  pass  from  generalities  to  personal  allusions,  which 
increased  the  fear  and  mortification  of  the  great  assembly 
with  every  moment. 

From  the  shadows  of  the  shrine,  where  he  had  chosen 
his  station,  Tristan  was  enabled  to  mark  every  shade  of 
the  emotions  which  swayed  the  multitudes  and,  as  his  eyes 
roamed  inadvertently  towards  the  chapel  of  the  Father 
Confessor,  he  saw  a  continuous  stream  of  penitents  enter 
the  dark  passage  leading  towards  the  crypts,  many  of  whom 
were  masked. 

Turning  his  head  by  chance,  Tristan's  glance  fell  upon 
two  men  who  had  apparently  just  entered  the  Basilica  and 
paused  a  few  paces  away,  to  listen  to  the  words  which  the 
monk  hurled  like  thunderbolts  across  the  heads  of  his  listeners. 
Despite  their  precaution  to  wear  masks,  Tristan  recognized 
the  Grand  Chamberlain  in  the  one,  while  his  companion, 
the  hunchback,  appeared  rather  uncomfortable  in  the  sancti 
fied  air  of  the  Basilica. 

Hitherto  Odo  of  Cluny's  attacks  on  the  existing  state  had 
been  general.  Now  he  glanced  over  the  crowd,  as  if  in  quest 
of  some  special  object,  as  with  strident  voice  he  declaimed: 

"Repent!  Death  stands  behind  you!  The  flag  of  your 
glory  shall  cease  to  wave  on  the  towers  of  your  strong  citadel. 
Destruction  clamors  at  your  palace  gates,  and  the  enemy 
that  cometh  upon  you  unaware  is  an  enemy  that  none  shall 
vanquish  or  subdue,  not  even  they  who  are  the  mightiest 
among  the  mighty.  Blood  stains  the  earth  and  the  sky.  Its 
red  waves  swallow  up  the  land!  The  heavens  grow  pale 


100   UNDER   THE    WITCHES'  MOON 

and  tremble!  The  silver  stars  blacken  and  decay,  and 
the  winds  of  the  desert  make  lament  for  that  which  shall 
come  to  pass,  ere  ever  the  grapes  be  pressed  or  the  harvest 
gathered.  It  is  a  scarlet  sea  wherein,  like  a  broken  and 
deserted  ship,  Rome  flounders,  never  to  rise  again  —  " 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  caught  his  breath  hard. 

"  The  Scarlet  Woman  of  Babylon  is  among  us!  "  he  cried. 
"  Hence !  accursed  tempter.  Thou  poisoner  of  peace,  thou 
quivering  sting  in  the  flesh,  destroyer  of  the  strength  of 
manhood !  Theodora !  —  thou  abomination  —  thou  tyran 
nous  treachery!  What  shall  be  done  unto  thee  in  the  hour 
of  darkness?  Put  off  the  ornaments  of  gold,  the  jewels, 
wherewith  thou  adornest  thy  beauty,  and  crown  thyself 
with  the  crown  of  endless  affliction.  For  thou  shalt  be 
girdled  about  with  flame  and  fire  shall  be  thy  garment.  Thy 
lips  that  have  drunk  sweet  wine  shall  be  steeped  in  bitter 
ness!  Vainly  shalt  thou  make  thyself  fair  and  call  upon 
thy  legion  of  lovers.  They  shall  be  as  dead  men,  deaf  to 
thine  entreaties,  and  none  shall  respond  to  thy  call!  None 
shall  hide  thee  from  shame  and  offer  thee  comfort!  In  the 
midst  of  thy  lascivious  delights  shalt  thou  suddenly  perish, 
and  my  soul  shall  be  avenged  on  thy  sins,  queen-courtesan 
of  the  earth!" 

Scarcely  had  the  last  word  died  to  silence  when  a  blinding 
flash  of  lightning  rent  the  gloom  followed  by  a  tremendous 
crash  of  thunder  that  shook  the  great  edifice  to  its  foundation. 
The  bronze  portals  opened  as  of  their  own  accord  and  a 
terrific  gust  of  wind  extinguished  every  light  in  the  thousand- 
jetted  candelabrum.  Impenetrable  darkness  reigned  —  thick, 
suffocating  darkness,  as  the  thunder  rolled  away  in  grand, 
sullen  echoes. 

There  was  a  momentary  lull,  then,  piercing  the  profound 
gloom,  came  the  cries  and  shrieks  of  frightened  women,  the 
horrible,  selfish  scrambling,  struggling  and  pushing  of  a 
bewildered  multitude.  A  veritable  frenzy  of  fear  seemed  to 


THE   DENUNCIATION  101 

possess  every  one.  Groans  and  sobs,  entreaties  and  curses 
from  those,  who,  intent  on  saving  themselves,  were  brutally 
trying  to  force  a  passage  to  the  door,  the  heart-rending,  frantic 
appeals  of  the  women  — -  all  these  sounds  increased  the 
horror  of  the  situation,  and  Tristan,  blind,  giddy  and  confused, 
listened  to  the  uproar  about  him  with  somewhat  of  the 
affrighted,  panic-stricken  compassion  that  a  stranger  in  hell 
mightfeel,  while  hearkening  to  the  ceaseless  plaints  of  the 
self-tortured  damned. 

Lost  in  a  dim  stupefaction  of  wonderment,  Tristan 
remained  where  he  stood,  while  the  crowds  rushed  from  the 
Basilica.  As  he  was  about  to  follow  in  their  wake,  his  gaze 
was  attracted  towards  the  chapel  of  the  Grand  Penitentiary, 
from  which  came  a  number  of  masked  personages  while 
he,  to  whose  keeping  were  confided  crimes  of  a  magnitude 
that  seemed  beyond  the  extensive  powers  of  absolution, 
was  barely  visible  under  the  cowl,  which  was  drawn  deeply 
over  his  forehead. 

The  thought  occurred  to  Tristan  to  seek  the  ear  of  the 
Confessor,  inasmuch  as  the  Pontiff  to  whom  he  had  hoped 
to  lay  bare  his  heart  could  not  grant  him  an  audience. 

The  lateness  of  the  hour  and  the  uncertainty  of  the  fate  of 
the  Monk  of  Cluny  prevented  him  from  following  the  prompt 
ing  of  the  moment  and,  staggering  rather  than  walking, 
Tristan  made  for  the  portals  of  St.  Peter's  and  walked  unsee 
ing  into  the  gathering  dusk. 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE   CONFESSION 


HE  storm  had  abated,  but  the 
sheen  of  white  lightnings  to 
southward  and  the  menacing 
growl  of  distant  thunder  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  bowels 
of  the  earth  held  out  promise  of 
renewed  upheavals  of  disturbed 
nature. 

The  streets  of  Rome  were 
comparatively  deserted  with  the 
swiftly  approaching  dusk,  and  it  occurred  to  Tristan  to  seek 
the  Monk  of  Cluny  in  his  abode  on  Mount  Aventine  whither 
he  had  doubtlessly  betaken  himself  after  his  sermon  in  the 
Basilica  of  St.  Peter's.  For  ever  and  ever  the  memory  of 
lost  Hellayne  dominated  his  thoughts,  and,  while  he  poured 
out  prayers  for  peace  at  the  shrines  of  the  saints,  with  the 
eyes  of  the  soul  he  saw  not  the  image  of  the  Virgin,  but  of  the 
woman  for  the  sake  of  whom  he  had  come  hither  and,  having 
come,  knew  not  where  to  find  that  which  he  sought. 

From  a  passing  friar  Tristan  learned  the  direction  of  Mount 
Aventine,  where,  among  the  ruins  near  the  newly  erected 
Church  of  Santa  Maria  of  the  Aventine,  Odo  of  Cluny  abode. 
Tristan  could  not  but  marvel  at  the  courage  of  the  man  whose 
life  was  in  hourly  jeopardy  and  who,  in  the  face  of  an  ever 
present  menace  could  put  his  trust  so  completely  in  Heaven 
as  to  brave  the  danger  without  even  a  guard.  — • 

Taking  the  road  indicated  by  the  friar,  Tristan  pursued  his 
solitary  path.  In  seeking  the  Monk  of  Cluny  his  purpose 
was  a  twofold  one,  certainty  with  regard  to  his  own  guilt,  in 


THE   CONFESSION  103 

having  loved  where  love  was  a  crime,  and  counsel  with  regard 
to  the  woman  who,  he  instinctively  felt,  would  not  stop  at  her 
first  innuendos. 

As  Tristan  proceeded  on  his  way  his  feelings  and  motives 
became  more  and  more  perplexed,  and  so  lost  was  he  in 
thought  that,  without  heeding  his  way  or  noting  the  scattered 
arches  and  porticoes,  he  lost  himself  in  the  wilderness  of  the 
Mount  of  Cloisters.  The  hush  was  intensified  rather  than 
broken  by  the  ever  louder  peals  of  thunder,  which  rever 
berated  through  the  valleys,  and  the  Stygian  darkness, 
broken  at  intervals  by  vivid  flashes  of  lightning,  seemed  to 
hem  him  in,  as  a  wall  of  basalt. 

Gradually  all  traces  of  a  road  vanished.  On  both  sides 
rose  woody  acclivities,  covered  with  rums  and  melancholy 
cypresses,  whose  spectral  outlines  seemed  to  stretch  into 
gaunt  immensity,  in  the  sheen  of  the  lightnings  which  grew 
more  and  more  frequent.  The  wind  rose  sobbingly  among 
the  trees,  and  a  few  scattered  rain-drops  began  to  warn 
Tristan  that  a  shelter  of  any  sort  would  be  preferable  to 
exposing  himself  to  the  onslaught  of  the  elements. 

Entering  the  first  group  of  ruins  he  came  to,  he  penetrated 
through  a  series  of  roofless  corridors  and  chambers  into 
what  seemed  a  dark  cylindrical  well  at  the  farther  extremity 
of  which  there  gleamed  an  infinitesimal  light.  Even  through 
the  clamor  of  the  storm  that  raged  outside  there  came  to 
him  the  sound  of  voices  from  the  interior. 

Impelled  as  much  by  curiosity  as  by  the  consideration  of 
his  own  safety  Tristan  crept  slowly  towards  the  aperture. 
As  he  did  so,  the  light  vanished,  but  a  crimson  glow,  as  of 
smouldering  embers,  succeeded,  and  heavy  fumes  of  incense, 
wafted  to  his  nostrils,  informed  him  that  his  fears  regarding 
the  character  of  the  abode  were  but  too  well  founded.  He 
cowered  motionless  in  the  gloom  until  the  storm  had  abated, 
determined  to  return  at  some  time  to  discover  what  mysteries 
the  place  concealed. 


104  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

A  fresher  breeze  had  sprung  up,  driving  the  thunderclouds 
to  northward,  and  from  a  clear  azure  the  stars  shone  in 
undimmed  lustre  upon  the  dreaming  world  beneath. 

For  a  moment  Tristan  stood  gazing  at  the  immense  deso 
lation,  the  wilderness  of  arches,  shattered  columns  and  ivy- 
covered  porticoes.  The  hopelessness  of  finding  among  these 
relics  of  antiquity  the  monk's  hermitage  impressed  itself  at 
once  upon  him.  Pausing  irresolutely,  he  would  probably 
have  retraced  his  steps,  had  he  not  chanced  to  see  some  one 
emerge  from  the  adjacent  ruins,  apparently  bound  in  the 
same  direction. 

Whether  it  was  a  presentiment  of  evil,  or  whether  the 
fear  bred  of  the  region  and  the  hour  of  the  night  prompted 
the  precaution,  Tristan  receded  into  the  shadows  and  watched 
the  approaching  form,  in  whom  he  recognized  Basil,  the 
Grand  Chamberlain.  He  at  once  resolved  to  follow  him 
and  the  soft  ground  aided  the  execution  of  his  design. 

The  way  wound  through  a  veritable  labyrinth  of  ruins, 
nevertheless  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  tall  dark  form,  stalking 
through  the  night  before  him.  At  times  an  owl  or  bat  whirled 
over  his  head.  With  these  exceptions  he  encountered  no 
living  thing  among  the  rums  to  break  the  hush  of  the  sepul 
chral  desolation. 

The  distance  between  them  gradually  diminished.  Tristan 
saw  the  other  turn  to  the  right  into  a  wilderness  of  grottoes, 
the  tortuous  corridors  of  which  were  at  times  almost  choked 
up  with  weeds  and  wild  flowers,  but  when  he  reached  the 
spot,  there  was  no  vestige  of  a  human  presence.  Basil 
had  disappeared  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed  him. 

Possessed  by  a  sudden  fear  that  some  harm  might  be 
intended  the  monk  and  remembering  certain  veiled  threats 
he  had  overheard  against  his  life,  he  proceeded  more  slowly 
and  cautiously  by  the  dim  light  of  the  stars. 

Before  long  he  found  himself  before  a  flight  of  grass  grown 
steps  that  led  up  to  a  series  of  desolate  chambers  which, 


THE   CONFESSION  105 

although  roofless  and  choked  with  rank  vegetation,  still 
bore  traces  of  theh"  ancient  splendor.  These  corridors 
led  to  a  clumsy  door,  standing  half  ajar,  from  beyond  which 
shone  the  faint  glimmer  of  a  light. 

After  having  reached  the  threshold  Tristan  paused. 

High,  oval-shaped  apertures  admitted  light  and  air  at 
once,  and  the  dying  embers  of  a  charcoal  fire  revealed  a 
chamber,  singularly  void  of  all  the  comforts  of  existence. 
Almost  in  the  centre  of  this  chamber,  before  a  massive 
stone  table,  upon  which  was  spread  a  huge  tome,  sat  the 
Monk  of  Cluny,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  right  hand  and 
reading  half  aloud. 

For  a  few  moments  Tristan  regarded  the  recluse  breath 
lessly,  as  if  he  dreaded  disturbing  his  meditations,  when 
Odo  suddenly  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  the  dark  form  stand 
ing  in  the  frame  of  the  door. 

The  look  which  he  bestowed  upon  Tristan  convinced  the 
latter  immediately  of  the  doubt  which  the  monk  harbored 
regarding  the  quality  of  his  belated  caller,  a  doubt  which 
he  deemed  well  to  disperse  before  venturing  into  the  monk's 
retreat. 

Therefore,  without  abandoning  his  position,  he  addressed 
the  inmate  of  the  chamber  and,  as  he  spoke,  the  tone  of  his 
voice  seemed  to  carry  conviction,  that  the  speaker  was 
sincere. 

"  Your  pardon,  father,"  Tristan  stammered,  "  for  one 
who  is  seeking  you  in  an  hour  of  grave  doubt  and  misgiving." 

The  monk's  ear  had  caught  the  accent  of  a  foreign  tongue. 
He  beckoned  to  Tristan  to  enter,  rising  from  the  bench 
on  which  he  had  been  seated. 

"  You  come  at  a  strange  hour,"  he  said,  not  without 
a  note  of  suspicion,  which  did  not  escape  Tristan.  "  Your 
business  must  be  weighty  indeed  to  embolden  one,  a  stranger 
on  Roman  soil,  to  penetrate  the  desolate  Aventine  when 
the  world  sleeps  and  murder  stalks  abroad." 


106   UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

"  I  am  here  for  a  singular  purpose,  father,  —  having  obeyed 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  after  listening  to  your  sermon 
at  St.  Peter's." 

"  But  that  was  hours  ago,"  interposed  the  monk,  resting 
his  hand  on  the  stone  table,  as  he  faced  his  visitor. 

"  I  lost  my  way  —  nor  did  I  meet  any  one  to  point  it," 
Tristan  replied,  as  he  advanced  and  kissed  the  monk's 
hand  reverently. 

"  What  is  your  business,  my  son?  "  asked  the  monk. 

Tristan  hesitated  a  moment.     At  last  he  spoke. 

"  I  came  to  Rome  not  of  my  own  desire,  —  but  obeying 
the  will  of  another  that  imposed  the  pilgrimage.  I  have 
sinned,  father  —  and  yet  there  are  moments,  when  I  would 
almost  glory  in  that  which  I  have  done.  It  was  my  purpose, 
while  at  St.  Peter's  to  confess  to  the  Grand  Penitentiary. 
But  —  I  know  not  why  —  I  chose  you  instead,  knowing  that 
you  would  give  truth  for  truth." 

The  monk  regarded  his  visitor,  wondering  what  one  so 
young  and  possessed  of  so  frank  a  countenance  might  have 
done  amiss. 

"  You  are  a  pilgrim?  "  he  queried  at  last. 

"  For  my  sins  —  " 

"  Of  French  descent,  yet  not  a  Frenchman  —  " 

Tristan  started  at  the  monk's  penetration. 

"  From  Provence,  father,"  he  stammered,  "  the  land  of 
songs  and  flowers  —  " 

"  And  women  —  "  the  monk  interposed  gravely. 

"  There  are  women  everywhere,  father." 

"  There  are  women  and  women.  Perchance  I  should 
say  'Woman.'  " 

Tristan  bowed  his  head  in  silence. 

The  monk  cast  a  penetrating  glance  at  his  visitor.  He 
understood  the  gesture  and  the  silence  with  that  quick  com 
prehension  that  came  to  him  who  was  to  reform  Holy  Catholic 
Church  from  the  abuse  of  decades  —  as  an  intuition. 


THE   CONFESSION  107 

"  But  now,  my  son,  speak  of  yourself,"  said  the  monk 
after  a  pause. 

"  I  lived  at  the  court  of  Avalon,  the  home  of  Love  and 
Troubadours." 

"  Of  Troubadours?  "  the  monk  interposed  dreamily.  "  A 
worldly  lot  —  given  to  extolling  free  love  and  what  not  —  " 

"  They  may  sing  of  love  and  passion,  father,  but  their 
lives  are  pure  and  chaste,"  Tristan  ventured  to  remonstrate. 

"  You  are  a  Troubadour?  "  came  the  swift  query. 

"  In  my  humble  way."      Tristan  replied  with  bowed  head. 

The  monk  nodded. 

"  Go  on  —  go  on !  " 

"  At  the  court  of  Avalon  I  met  the  consort  of  Count  Roger 

de  Laval.     He  was  much  absent,  on  one  business  or  another, 

—  the  chase  —  feuds  with  neighboring  barons.  —  He  chose 

me  to  help  the  Lady  Hellayne  to  while  away  the  long  hours 

during  his  absence  —  " 

"His  wife!     What  folly!" 

"  The  Count  de  Laval  is  one  of  those  men  who  would 
tempt  the  heavens  themselves  to  fall  upon  him  rather  than  to 
air  himself  beneath  them.  That  his  fair  young  wife,  doing 
his  will  among  men  given  to  the  chase  and  drinking  bouts, 
and  the  society  of  tainted  damsels,  should  long  for  something 
higher,  she,  whom  he  regarded  with  the  high  air  of  the  lord 
of  creation  —  that  she  should  dare  dream  of  some  intan 
gible  something,  for  which  she  hungered,  and  craved  and 
starved  —  " 

"  If  you  are  about  to  confess,  as  I  conceive,  to  a  wrong 
you  have  done  to  this  same  lord," interposed  the  monk, "your 
sin  is  not  less  black  if  you  paint  him  you  have  wronged  in 
odious  tints." 

"  Nevertheless  I  am  most  sorry  to  do  so,  father,"  Tristan 
interposed,  "  else  could  I  not  make  you  understand  to  its  full 
extent  his  folly  and  conceit  by  placing  me,  a  creature  of 


108   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

emotion,  day  by  day  beside  so  fair  a  being  as  his  young  wife. 
Therefore  I  would  explain." 

"  It  needs  some  explanation  truly!  "  the  monk  said  sternly. 

"  The  Count  de  Laval  is  a  man  whose  conceit  is  so  colos 
sal,  father,  that  he  would  never  think  it  possible  that  any 
one  could  fail  in  love  and  admiration  at  the  shrine  which  he 
built  for  himself.  A  man  of  supreme  arrogance  and  self- 
righteousness." 

"  Sad,  indeed  —  "  mused  the  monk. 

"  Our  thoughts  were  pagan,  drifting  back  to  the  days 
when  the  world  was  peopled  with  sylvan  creatures  —  with 
the  deities  of  field  and  stream  —  " 

"  Mere  heathen  dreams,"  interposed  the  monk.  "  Go  on! 
Goon!" 

"  I  then  felt  within  myself  the  impulse  to  throw  forth  a 
minstrelsy  prophetic  of  a  new  world  resembling  that  old 
which  had  vanished.  It  was  not  to  be  a  mere  chant  of  wrath 
or  exultation  —  it  was  to  sound  the  joy  of  the  earth,  of  the 
air,  of  the  sun,  of  the  moon  and  the  stars,  —  the  song  of  the 
birds,  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  —  " 

"  Words  that  have  but  little  meaning  left  in  this  stern 
world  wherein  we  dwell  —  " 

"  They  had  meaning  for  me,  father.  Also  for  her. 
They  were  to  both  of  us  a  bright  and  mystical  ideal,  in  the 
fumes  of  which  we  steeped  our  souls,  —  our  very  selves, 
till  our  natures  seemed  to  know  no  hurt,  seemed  incapable 
of  evil  —  " 

"  Alas  —  the  greater  the  pity !  " 

"  I  was  sure  of  myself.  She  was  sure  of  me.  I  loved 
her.  Her  presence  was  to  me  as  some  intoxication  of  the 
soul  —  some  rare  perfume  that  captivates  the  senses,  rais 
ing  the  spirit  to  heights  too  rarefied  for  breath  —  " 

"  And  you  fell?  " 

The  words  came  from  the  monk's  lips,  slowly,  inexorably, 
as  the  knell  of  fate. 


THE   CONFESSION  109 

"I  — all,  but  fell!"  stammered  Tristan.  "One  day  in 
a  chamber  far  removed  from  the  inhabited  part  of  the  castle 
we  sat  and  read.  And  suddenly  she  laid  her  face  close 
to  mine  and  with  eyes  in  whose  mystic  depths  lurked  some 
thing  more  than  I  had  ever  seen  in  them  before  asked  why, 
through  Fate's  high  necessity,  two  should  forever  wander 
side  by  side,  longing  for  each  other  —  their  longing  unsatis 
fied  —  when  the  hour  was  theirs  —  " 

Again  Tristan  paused. 

The  monk  regarded  him  in  silence. 

"  You  fell?  "  the  question  came  again. 

"  In  that  moment,  father,  I  was  no  more  myself,  no  more 
the  one  whose  art  is  sacred  and  alone  upon  the  mountain 
summit  of  his  soul.  Its  freedom  and  aspirations  were  no 
more.  I  was  undone,  a  tumbled,  wingless  thing.  My 
pride  had  fled.  Long,  long  I  looked  into  her  eyes,  and 
when  she  put  her  wonderful  white  arms  about  me,  I,  in  a 
dizzy  moment  of  desire,  dropped  my  face  to  hers.  Then 
was  love  all  uttered.  Straightway  I  arose.  I  clasped  her 
in  my  arms.  I  kissed  —  I  kissed  her  —  " 

The  monk  regarded  him  sternly,  yet  not  unkindly. 

"  It  was  a  sin.     Yet  —  there  is  more?  " 

Tristan's  hands  were  clasped. 

"One  evening  in  the  rose  garden  —  at  dusk  —  the  eve 
ning  on  which  she  sent  me  from  her  —  bade  me  go  to  Rome 
to  obtain  forgiveness  for  a  sin  of  which  I  could  not  repent.'' 

The  monk  nodded.     "  Go  on !     Go  on !  " 

"  The  world  had  fallen  away  from  us.  We  stood  in  a 
grove,  our  arms  about  each  other.  Suddenly  I  saw  a  face. 
I  withdrew  my  arm,  overwhelmed  by  all  the  shame  of  guilt. 
The  face  vanished  and,  passion  overmastering  once  more, 
we  touched  our  lips  anew.  It  was  the  last  time  we  were 
to  see  each  other.  I  left  behind  the  wondrous  silken  hair 
my  hands  had  touched  in  our  last  mad  caress.  I  left  behind 
that  tender  face  and  form.  She  made  no  attempt  to  follow, 


110   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

or  to  call  me  back.  I  hastened  to  my  chamber,  and  there 
I  fought  anew  with  all  that  evil  impulse  of  my  youth,  to 
face  the  shame,  as  long  as  joy  endured.  If  I  had  sinned 
in  mind  against  my  high  ideal  might  I  not  some  day  recover 
it  and  be  purified?  " 

"  What  of  God  and  Holy  Church?  "  queried  the  monk. 

"  To  them  I  gave  no  heed,  but  to  my  honor.  This  upheld 
me." 

The  monk  gave  a  nod. 

"  I  left  Avalon.  It  seemed  as  if  without  her  my  life  were 
ebbing  away.  I  joined  a  pilgrim  party,  and  now  my  pilgrim 
age  is  ended.  What  must  I  do  to  still  this  inward  craving 
that  will  not  leave  my  soul  at  peace?  " 

He  ended  in  a  sob. 

The  monk  had  relapsed  into  deep  thought,  and  Tristan's 
eyes  were  riveted  on  the  ascetic  form  in  silent  dread,  as  to 
what  would  be  the  verdict. 

At  last  Odo  broke  the  heavy  silence. 

"You  have  committed  a  grievous  sin  —  adultery  —  nay, 
speak  not !  "  he  said,  as  Tristan  attempted  to  remonstrate 
against  the  dire  accusation.  "  The  seed  of  every  act  slum 
bers  in  the  mind  ere  its  pernicious  shoots  are  manifest  in 
deeds.  He  who  looks  upon  a  woman  with  the  desire  to 
possess  her  has  already  committed  adultery  with  her.  Yet 
-  not  one  in  a  thousand  would  have  done  so"  nobly  under 
such  temptation !  " 

The  monk's  voice  betrayed  some  feeling  as  he  placed 
his  hand  on  Tristan's  bowed  head. 

"  I  shall  consider  what  penances  are  most  fit  for  one  who 
has  transgressed  as  you  have,  my  son.  It  is  for  your  future 
life  —  perchance  Holy  Orders  —  " 

Tristan  raised  his  head  imploringly. 

"  Not  that,  father,  —  not  that!    I  am  not  fit!  " 

The  monk  regarded  him  quizzically. 

"  The  lust  of  the  eye  is  mighty  and  the  fever  of  the  world 


THE    CONFESSION  111 

still  burns  in  your  veins,  my  son,  rebelling  against  the  pas 
sion  that  chastens  and  purifies.  Nevertheless,  the  Church 
desires  no  enforced  service.  She  wishes  to  be  served 
through  love,  not  with  aversion  and  fear.  Continue  to  do 
penance,  implore  His  forgiveness,  and  that  He  may  take 
from  you  this  worldly  desire." 

Kissing  anew  the  hand  which  the  monk  extended,  Tristan 
arose,  after  Odo  had  made  upon  him  the  holy  sign. 

"  I  shall  obey  your  behest,"  he  said  in  a  low,  broken 
voice,  then  withdrew,  while  the  Monk  of  Cluny  returned 
to  his  former  pursuit,  unconscious  that  another  had  wit 
nessed  and  overheard  the  strange  confession  from  a  recess 
in  the  wall. 

As  one  in  a  trance  Tristan  left  the  Monk  of  Cluny,  his 
heart  rilled  with  gratitude  for  the  man  who,  in  the  midst 
of  a  world  of  strife  and  unrest,  had  listened  to  his  tale  and 
had  not  dealt  harshly  with  him,  but  had  received  him  sym 
pathetically,  even  while  rebuking  the  offence.  While  the 
penances  imposed  upon  him  were  not  severe,  Tristan  chafed 
nevertheless  under  the  restraint  they  laid  upon  his  soul. 

What  was  his  future  life  to  be?  What  new  vistas  would 
open  before  him?  What  new  impressions  would  super 
impose  themselves  upon  the  memories  of  the  past  —  the 
memory  of  Hellayne? 

As  he  passed  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  of  the  Aventine, 
Tristan  saw  the  portals  open.  Puzzled  over  the  problems 
he  was  face  in  the  days  to  come,  he  entered  the  dim  shadows 
of  the  sanctuary. 

All  that  night  Tristan  knelt  in  solitary  prayer. 

The  great  church  was  empty  and  silent,  unlit  save  for 
the  lamp  upon  the  altar.  There  Tristan  kept  his  vigil,  his 
tired,  tearful  eyes  upon  the  crucifixion,  searching  his  own 
heart. 

The  night  of  silence  brought  him  no  vision  and  shed  no 
light  upon  his  path.  The  pale  dawn  found  him  still  upon 


112   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

his  knees  before  the  altar,  his  eyes  upon  the  drooping  form 
of  the  crucified  Christ. 

Thus  the  monks  found  him  when  they  entered  for  early 
Matins.  At  last  he  arose,  in  his  sombre  eyes  a  touching 
resignation  and  infinite  regret. 


END  OF  BOOK  THE  FIRST 


BOOK  THE  SECOND 


CHAPTER  I 


THE    GRAND    CHAMBERLAIN 


ASTEL  SAN  ANGELO,  the 
Tomb  of  the  Flavian  Emperor, 
seemed  rather  to  have  been 
built  for  a  great  keep,  a  break 
water  as  it  were  to  stem  the 
rush  of  barbarian  seas  which 
were  wont  to  come  storming 
down  from  the  frozen  north, 
than  for  the  resting-place  of  the 
former  master  of  the  world.  Its 
constructors  had  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  its  everlasting- 
ness.  So  thick  were  its  bastioned  walls,  so  thick  the  curtains 
which  divided  its  inner  and  outer  masonry,  that  no  force  of 
nature  seemed  capable  of  honeycombing  or  weakening  them. 
Hidden  within  its  screens  and  vaults,  like  the  gnawings  of 
a  foul  and  intricate  cancer,  ran  dark  passages  which  dis 
charged  themselves  here  and  there  into  dreadful  dungeons, 
or  secret  places  not  guessed  at  in  the  common  tally  of  its 
rooms. 

These  oubliettes  were  hideous  with  blotched  and  spotted 
memories,  rotten  with  the  dew  of  suffering,  eloquent  in  their 
terror  and  corruption  and  darkness  of  the  cruelty  which 
turned  to  these  walls  for  security.  The  hiss  and  purr  of 
subterranean  fires,  the  grinding  of  low,  grated  jaws,  the 
flop  and  echo  of  stagnant  water  that  oozed  from  a  stagnant 
inner  moat  into  vermin-swarming,  human-haunted  cellars: 
these  sounds  spoke  even  less  of  grief  than  the  hellish  fer- 


116   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

ment  in  the  souls  of  those  who  had  lorded  it  in  this  keep 
since  the  fall  of  the  Western  Empire. 

On  this  night  there  hung  an  air  of  menace  about  the  Mau 
soleum  of  the  Flavian  Emperor  which  seemed  enhanced  by 
the  roar  and  clatter  of  the  tempest  that  raged  over  the  seven- 
hilled  city.  Snaky  twists  of  lightning  leaped  athwart  the 
driving  darkness,  and  deafening  peals  of  thunder  rever 
berated  in  deep,  booming  echoes  through  the  inky  vault 
of  the  heavens. 

In  one  of  the  upper  chambers  of  the  huge  granite  pile, 
which  seemed  to  defy  the  very  elements,  in  a  square  room, 
dug  out  of  the  very  rock,  containing  but  one  window  that 
appeared  as  a  deep  wedge  in  the  wall,  piercing  to  the  sheer 
flank  of  the  tower,  there  sat,  brooding  over  a  letter  he  held 
in  his  hand,  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

The  drowsy  odor  of  incense,  smouldering  in  the  little 
purple  shrine  lamp,  robbed  the  air  of  its  last  freshness. 

A  tunic  of  dark  velvet,  fur  bound  and  girt  with  a  belt  of 
finest  Moorish  steel,  was  relieved  by  an  undervest  of  deepest 
crimson.  Woven  hose  to  match  the  tunic  ended  in  crimson 
buskins  of  soft  leather.  The  mantle  and  the  skull  cap 
which  he  had  discarded  lay  beside  him  on  the  floor,  guarded 
by  a  tawny  hound  of  the  ancient  Molossian  breed. 

By  the  fitful  light  of  the  two  waxen  tapers,  which  flickered 
dismally  under  the  onslaught  of  the  elements,  the  inmate 
of  the  chamber  slowly  and  laboriously  deciphered  the  letter. 
Then  he  placed  it  in  his  doublet,  lapsing  into  deep  rumination, 
as  one  who  is  vainly  seeking  to  solve  a  problem  that  defies 
solution. 

Rising  at  last  from  his  chair  Basil  paced  the  narrow  con 
fines  of  the  chamber,  whose  crimson  walls  seemed  to  form 
a  fitting  background  for  the  dark-robed  occupant. 

Outside,  the  storm  howled  furiously,  flinging  gusty  dashes 
of  rain  and  hail  against  the  stone  masonry  and  clattering 
noisily  with  every  blow  inflicted  upon  the  solid  rock. 


THE   GRAND   CHAMBERLAIN    117 

When,  spent  by  its  own  fury,  the  hurricane  abated  for  a 
moment,  the  faint  sound  of  a  bell  tolling  the  Angelus  could 
be  heard  whimpering  through  the  night. 

When  Basil  had  left  Theodora  after  their  meeting  at  the 
palace,  there  had  been  a  darker  light  in  his  eyes,  a  some 
thing  more  ominous  of  evil  in  his  manner.  While  his  pas 
sion  had  utterly  enslaved  him,  making  him  a  puppet  in  the 
hands  of  the  woman  whose  boundless  ambition  must  in 
evitably  lead  her  either  to  the  heights  of  the  empire  whereof 
she  dreamed,  or  to  the  deepest  abyss  of  hell,  Basil  was  far 
from  being  content  to  occupy  a  position  which  made  him 
merely  a  creature  of  her  will  and  making.  To  mount  the 
throne  with  the  woman  whose  beauty  had  set  his  senses 
aflame,  to  rule  the  city  of  Rome  from  the  ramparts  of  Castel 
San  Angelo,  as  Ugo  of  Tuscany  by  the  side  of  Marozia, 
this  was  the  dream  of  the  man  who  would  leave  no  stone 
unturned  to  accomplish  the  ambition  of  his  life. 

In  an  age  where  certain  dark  personalities  appeared  ter 
ribly  sane  to  their  contemporaries,  their  occult  dealings 
with  powers  whose  existence  none  questioned  must  have 
seemed  terribly  real  to  themselves  and  to  those  who  gazed 
from  afar.  When  the  mad  were  above  the  sane  in  power, 
and  beyond  the  reach  of  observation,  there  was  no  limit 
to  their  baleful  activity. 

Basil,  from  the  early  days  of  his  youth,  had  lived  in  a 
world  of  evil  spirits,  imaginary  perhaps  for  us,  but  real 
enough  for  those  who  might  at  any  moment  be  at  his  mercy. 
Stimulating  his  mad  desire  with  the  potent  drug  which  the 
Saracens  had  brought  with  them  from  the  scented  East, 
he  pushed  his  hashish-born  imaginings  to  the  very  throne 
of  Evil.  His  ambition,  which  was  boundless,  and  centred 
in  the  longed  for  achievement  of  a  hope  too  stupendous 
even  for  thought,  had  intimately  connected  him  with  those 
whose  occult  researches  put  them  outside  the  pale  of  the 
Church,  and  the  power  he  wielded  in  the  shadowy  world 


118   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

of  demons  was  as  unchallenged  as  that  which  he  felt  him 
self  wielding  in  the  tangible  world  of  men. 

Among  the  people  there  was  no  end  to  the  dark  stories 
of  magic  and  poison,  some  of  them  real  enough,  that  were 
whispered  about  him,  and  many  a  belated  rambler  looked 
with  a  shudder  up  to  the  light  that  burned  in  a  chamber 
of  his  palace  on  the  Pincian  Hill  till  the  wee,  small  hours 
of  the  night.  Had  he  been  merely  a  practitioner  of  the 
Black  Arts  he  would  probably  long  since  have  ended  his 
career  in  the  dungeons  of  Castel  San  Angelo.  But  he  was 
safe  enough  as  one  of  the  great  ones  of  the  world,  the  confi 
dant  of  the  Senator  of  Rome;  safe,  because  he  was  feared 
and  because  none  dared  to  oppose  his  baleful  influence. 

Basil  pondered,  as  if  the  solution  of  the  problem  in  his 
mind  had  at  last  presented  itself,  but  had  again  left  him, 
unsatisfied,  in  the  throes  of  doubt  and  fear. 

Rising  from  his  seat  he  again  unfolded  the  letter  and 
peered  over  its  contents. 

"  Can  we  regain  the  door  by  which  we  have  entered? " 
he  soliloquized.  "Can  we  conquer  the  phantom  that  haunts 
the  silent  chambers  of  the  brain?  Were  it  an  eye,  or  a  hand, 
I  could  pluck  it  off.  However,  if  I  cannot  strangle  it,  I  can 
conquer  it!  Shall  it  forever  blot  the  light  of  heaven  from 
my  path?  Shall  I  forever  suffer  and  tremble  at  this  impal 
pable  something  —  this  shade  from  the  abyss .  of  hell  — 
that  is  there  —  yet  not  there?  " 

He  paused  for  a  moment  in  his  perambulation,  gazing 
through  the  narrow  unglazed  window  into  the  storm-tossed 
night  without.  Now  and  then  a  flash  of  lightning  shot 
athwart  the  inky  darkness,  lighting  up  dark  recesses  and 
deep  embrasures.  The  sullen  roar  of  the  thunder  seemed 
to  come  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

And  as  the  Grand  Chamberlain  walked,  as  if  driven  by 
some  invisible  demon,  the  great  Molossian  hound  followed 
him  about  with  a  stealthy,  noiseless  gait,  raising  its  head 


THE   GRAND   CHAMBERLAIN    119 

now  and  then  as  if  silently  inquiring  into  its  master's 
mood. 

When  at  length  he  reseated  himself,  the  huge  hound 
cowered  at  his  feet  and  licked  its  huge  paws. 

The  mood  of  the  woman  for  whom  his  lust-bitten  soul 
yearned  as  it  had  never  yearned  for  anything  on  earth,  her 
words  of  disdain,  which  had  scorched  his  very  brain,  and, 
above  all,  the  knowledge  that  she  read  his  inmost  thoughts, 
had  roused  every  atom  of  evil  within  his  soul.  This  state 
of  mind  was  accentuated  by  the  further  consideration  that 
she,  of  all  women  whom  he  had  sent  to  their  shame  and 
death,  was  not  afraid  of  him.  She  had  even  dared  to  hint 
at  the  existence  of  a  rival  who  might  indeed,  hi  time,  super 
sede  him,  H  he  were  not  wary. 

For  some  time  Basil  had  been  vaguely  conscious  of  losing 
ground  in  the  favor  of  the  woman  whom  no  man  might  utterly 
trust  save  to  his  undoing.  The  rivalry  of  Roxana,  who,  like 
her  tenth-century  prototypes,  was  but  too  eager  to  enter 
the  arena  for  Marozia's  fateful  inheritance,  had  poured  oil 
on  the  flames  when  Theodora  had  learned  that  the  Senator 
of  Rome  himself  was  frequenting  her  bowers,  and  she  was 
not  slow  to  perceive  the  agency  that  was  at  work  to  defeat 
and  destroy  her  utterly. 

By  adding  ever  new  fuel  to  the  hatred  of  the  two  women 
for  each  other  Basil  hoped  to  clear  for  himself  a  path  that 
would  carry  him  to  the  height  of  his  aspirations,  by  compel 
ling  Theodora  to  openly  espouse  him  her  champion.  Sooner 
or  later  he  knew  they  would  ignite  under  each  other's  taunts, 
and  upon  the  ruins  of  the  conflagration  he  hoped  to  build 
his  own  empire,  with  Theodora  to  share  with  him  the  throne. 

Alberic  had  departed  for  the  shrines  of  the  Archangel 
at  Monte  Gargano.  Intent  upon  the  purification  of  the 
Church  and  upon  matters  pertaining  to  the  empire,  he  was 
an  element  that  needed  hardly  be  reckoned  with  seriously. 
A  successful  coup  would  hurl  him  into  the  dungeons  of  his 


120  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

own  keep,  perchance,  by  some  irony  of  fate,  into  the  very 
cell  where  Marozia  had  so  mysteriously  and  ignominiously 
ended  her  career.  Once  in  possession  of  the  Mausoleum, 
the  Germans  and  Dalmatians  bought  and  bribed,  he  would 
be  the  master  —  unless  — 

Suddenly  the  huge  beast  at  his  feet  raised  its  muzzle, 
sniffing  the  air  and  uttering  a  low  growl. 

A  moment  later  Maraglia,  the  Castellan  of  Castel  San 
Angelo,  entered  through  a  winding  passage. 

"  What  brings  you  here  at  this  hour,  with  your  damned 
butcher's  face? "  Basil  turned  upon  the  newcomer  who 
had  paused  when  his  gaze  fell  upon  the  Molossian. 

The  brutal  features  of  Maraglia  looked  ghastly  enough 
in  the  flickering  light  of  the  tapers  and  Basil's  temper  seemed 
to  deepen  their  ashen  pallor. 

"  My  lord  —  it  is  there  again,  —  in  the  lower  gallery  — 
near  the  cell  where  the  Lady  Marozia  was  strangled  —  " 

"By  all  the  furies  of  Hell!  Since  when  are  you  in  the 
secrets  of  the  devil?  " 

"  Since  I  held  the  noose,  my  Lord  Basil,"  replied  the  warden 
of  the  Emperor's  Tomb  doggedly.  "  Though  I  knew  not 
at  the  time  whose  breath  was  being  shortened.  It  was 
all  too  dark  —  a  night  just  like  this  —  " 

"  Perchance  your  memory,  going  back  to  that  hour,  has 
retained  something  more  than  the  mere  surmise,"  Basil 
glowered  from  under  the  dark,  straight  brows.  "  How 
many  were  there?  " 

"  There  were  three  —  all  masked,  my  lord.  But  their 
voices  were  their  own  —  " 

"  You  possess  a  keen  ear,  my  man,  as  one,  accustomed  to 
dark  deeds  and  passages,  well  should,"  Basil  interposed 
sardonically.  "  Deem  you,  in  your  undoubted  wisdom,  the 
lady  has  returned  and  is  haunting  her  former  abode?  Once 
upon  a  time  she  was  not  wont  to  abide  in  estate  so  lowly. 
And,  they  say,  she  was  beautiful  —  even  to  her  death." 


THE   GRAND   CHAMBERLAIN    121 

"  And  well  they  may,"  Maraglia  interposed.  "  I  saw 
her  but  twice.  When  she  came,  and  before  she  died." 

"  Before  she  died?  " 

"  And  the  look  she  bent  upon  him  who  led  the  execution," 
Maraglia  continued  thoughtfully.  "  She  spoke  not  once. 
Dumb  and  silent  she  went  to  the  fishes.  When  the  Lord 
Alberic  arrived,  it  was  all  too  late  —  " 

"All  too  late!"  Basil  interposed  sardonically.  "The 
fishes  too  were  dumb.  Profit  by  their  example,  Maraglia. 
Too  much  wisdom  engenders  death." 

"  The  death  rattle  of  one  sounds  to  my  ears  just  like  that 
of  another,  my  lord,"  Maraglia  replied,  quaking  under  the 
look  that  was  upon  him.  "  And  the  voices  of  the  few  who 
still  abide  are  growing  weaker  day  by  day." 

"  They  shall  not  much  longer  annoy  your  delicate  ears," 
Basil  replied.  "  The  Senator  who  has  found  this  abode 
somewhat  too  draughty  has  departed  for  the  holy  shrines, 
to  do  penance  for  the  death  of  his  mother.  He  suspects 
all  was  not  well.  He  would  know  more.  Perchance  the 
Archangel  may  grant  him  a  revelation.  Meanwhile,  we 
must  to  work.  The  new  captain  appointed  by  the  Senator 
enters  his  service  on  the  morrow.  A  holy  man,  much  given 
to  contemplation  over  the  mysteries  of  love.  His  attention 
must  be  diverted.  Every  trace  of  life  must  be  extinct  — 
this  very  night.  No  proofs  must  be  allowed  to  remain. 
Meanwhile,  what  of  the  apparition  whereof  you  rave?  " 

"  It  is  there,  my  lord,  as  sure  as  my  soul  lives,"  replied 
the  castellan.  "  A  shapeless  something,  preceded  by  a 
breath,  cold  as  from  a  newly  dug  grave." 

"  A  shapeless  something,  say  you?  Whence  comes  it 
and  where  goes  it?  For  whose  diversion  does  it  perambu 
late?  " 

"  The  astrologer  monk  perchance  who  improvises  proph 
ecies." 

"  Then  let  his  improvising  damn  himself,"  replied  Basil 


122   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

sullenly .  "  To  call  himself  inspired  and  pretend  to  read  the 
stars!  How  about  his  prophecy  now?" 

"He  holds  to  it!" 

"  What!    That  I  have  less  than  one  month  to  live?  " 

"  Just  that  —  no  more !  "  — 

Basil  gave  the  speaker  a  quick  glance. 

"  What  niggardly  dispensation  and  presumption  withal ! 
This  fellow  to  claim  kinship  with  the  stars!  To  profess  to 
be  in  their  confidence,  to  share  the  secrets  of  the  heavens 
while  he  is  smothered  by  darkness,  utter  and  everlasting. 
The  heavens  mind  you,  Maraglia!  My  star!  It  is  a  star 
of  darker  red  than  Mars  and  crosses  Hell  —  not  Heaven! 
In  thought  I  watch  it  every  night  with  sleepless  eyes.  Is 
it  not  well  to  cleanse  the  earth  of  such  lying  prophets  that 
truth  may  have  standing  room?  Where  have  you  lodged 
him?  " 

"  In  the  Hermit's  cell  —  " 

"  Well  done !  Thereby  he  shall  prove  his  asceticism. 
Let  practised  abstinence  save  him  hi  such  a  pass!  He  shall 
eat  his  words  —  an  everlasting  banquet.  A  fat  astrologer 
—  by  the  token  —  as  I  hear,  was  he  not?  " 

"  He  was  fat  when  he  entered." 

"  Wretch !  Would  you  starve  him?  Remember  the  worms 
and  the  fishes  —  your  friends.  Would  you  cheat  them? 
Hath  he  foretold  his  end?  " 

"  Ay  —  by  starvation." 

"  He  lies !  You  shall  take  him  hi  extremis  and,  with 
your  knife  in  his  throat,  give  him  the  lie.  An  impostor 
proved.  What  of  the  night?" 

"  It  rams  and  thunders." 

"  Why  should  we  mind  rain  and  thunder?  Lead  me  to 
this  madman,  and,  incidentally,  to  this  phantom  that  keeps 
him  company.  Why  do  you  gape,  Maraglia?  Move  on! 
I  follow!" 

Maraglia  was  ill  at  ease,  but  he  dared  not  disobey.    Taking 


THE   GRAND   CHAMBERLAIN    123 

up  one  of  the  candles,  he  led  the  way,  trembling,  his  face 
ashen,  his  teeth  chattering,  as  if  in  the  throes  of  a  chill. 

Through  a  panel  door  in  the  wall  they  descended  a  wind 
ing  stairway,  leaving  the  dog  behind.  The  flight  conducted 
them  to  a  private  postern,  well  secured  and  guarded  inside 
and  out.  As  they  issued  from  this  the  howl  of  blown  rain 
met  and  staggered  them.  Looking  up  at  the  cupola  of 
basalt  from  the  depths  of  that  well  of  masonry,  it  seemed 
to  crack  and  split  in  a  rush  of  fusing  stars.  Basil's  mad 
soul  leapt  to  the  call  of  the  hour.  He  was  one  with  this 
mighty  demonstration  of  nature.  His  brain  danced  and 
flickered  with  dark  visions  of  power.  He  appeared  to  him 
self  as  an  angel,  a  destroying  angel,  commissioned  from  on 
high  to  purge  the  world  of  lies. 

"Take  me  to  this  monk!"  he  screamed  through  the 
thunder. 

Deep  in  the  foundation  of  the  northeastern  crypts  the 
miserable  creature  was  embedded  in  a  stone  chamber  as 
utterly  void  and  empty  as  despair.  The  walls,  the  floor, 
the  roof  were  all  chiselled  as  smooth  as  glass.  There  was 
not  a  foothold  anywhere  even  for  a  cat,  neither  door,  nor 
traps,  nor  egress,  nor  window  of  any  kind  save  where,  just 
under  the  ceiling,  the  grated  opening  by  which  he  had  been 
lowered,  admitted  by  day  a  haggard  ghost  of  light.  And 
even  that  wretched  solace  was  withdrawn  as  night  fell, 
became  a  phantom,  a  diluted  whisp  of  memory,  sank  like 
water  into  the  blackness,  and  left  the  fancy  suddenly  naked 
in  the  self-consciousness  of  hell.  Then  the  monk  screamed 
like  a  madman  and  threw  himself  towards  the  flitting  spectre. 
He  fell  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  polished  rock  and  bruised 
his  limbs  horribly.  Yet  the  very  pain  was  a  saving  occu 
pation.  He  struck  his  skull  and  revelled  in  the  agonizing 
dance  of  lights  the  blow  procured  him.  But  one  by  one 
they  blew  out;  and  in  a  moment  dead  negation  had  him  by 
the  throat  again,  rolling  him  over  and  over,  choking  him  under 


124   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

enormous  slabs  of  darkness.  Gasping,  he  cursed  his  im 
providence,  in  not  having  glued  his  vision  to  the  place  of 
the  light's  going.  It  would  have  been  something  gained  from 
madness  to  hold  and  gloat  upon  it,  to  watch  hour  by  hour 
for  its  feeble  redawn.  Among  all  the  spawning  monstrosi 
ties  of  that  pit,  with  only  the  assured  prospect  of  a  lingering 
death  before  him,  the  prodigy  of  eternal  darkness  quite 
overcrowded  that  other  of  thirst  or  starvation. 

Yet  the  black  gloom  broke,  it  would  seem,  before  its  due. 
Had  he  annihilated  time  and  was  this  death?  He  rose 
rapturously  to  his  feet  and  stood  staring  at  the  grating,  the 
tears  gushing  down  his  sunken  cheeks.  The  bars  were 
withdrawn,  in  their  place  a  dim  lamp  was  intruded  and  a 
face  looked  down. 

"  Barnabo  —  are  you  hungry  and  a-thirst?  " 

The  voice  spoke  to  him  of  life.  It  was  the  name  he  had 
borne  hi  the  world  and  he  wondered  who  from  that  world 
could  be  addressing  him. 

He  answered  quaveringly. 

"  Of  a  truth,  I  am  hungry  and  a-thirst." 

"  It  is  a  beatitude,"  replied  the  voice  suavely.  "  You 
shall  have  your  fill  of  justice." 

"  Justice ! "  screamed  the  prisoner.  "  I  fear  it  is  but  an 
empty  phrase." 

"  Comfort  yourself,"  said  the  other.  "  I  shall  make  a 
full  measure  of  it!  It  shall  bubble  and  sparkle  to  the  brim 
like  a  goblet  of  Cyprian.  Know  you  the  wine,  monk?  A 
cool  fragrant  liquid,  that  gurgles  down  the  arid  throat  and 
brings  visions  of  green  meadows  and  sparkling  brooks  —  " 

"  I  ask  no  mercy,"  cried  the  monk,  falling  on  his  knees 
and  stretching  out  his  lean  arms.  "  Only  make  an  end  of 
it  —  of  this  hellish  torment." 

"  Torment?  "  came  the  voice  from  above.  "  What  tor 
ment  is  there  in  the  vision  of  the  wine  cup  —  or,  for  that 
matter,  a  feast  on  groaning  tables  under  the  trees?  Are 


THE   GRAND   CHAMBERLAIN    125 

you  not  rich  in  experiences,  Barnabo,  —  both  of  the  board 
and  of  love?  Remember  the  hours  when  she  lay  in  your 
arms,  innocent,  save  of  original  sin?  Ah!  Could  she  see 
you  now,  Barnabo  —  how  you  have  changed !  No  more  the 
elegant  courtier  that  wooed  Theodora  ere  despair  drove 
you  to  don  the  penitential  garb  and,  like  Balaam's  ass,  to 
raise  your  voice  and  prophesy!  Deem  you  —  as  fate  has 
thrown  her  into  these  arms  of  mine  —  memory  will  revive 
the  forgotten  joys  of  the  days  of  long  ago?  " 

"Mercy  —  demon!"  gasped  the  monk.  His  swollen 
throat  could  hardly  shape  the  words. 

Basil  laughed  and  bent  lower. 

"  Answer  me  then  —  you  who  boast  of  being  inspired 
from  above  —  you  who  listen  to  the  music  of  the  spheres 
in  the  dead  watches  of  the  night  —  tell  me  then,  you  man 
of  God  —  how  long  am  I  to  live?  " 

"Monster,  relieve  me  of  your  sight!"  shrieked  the  un- 
happy  wretch. 

"  It  is  the  light,"  mocked  Basil.  "  The  light  from  above. 
Raise  your  voice,  monk,  and  prophesy.  You  who  would 
hurl  the  anathema  upon  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain, 
who  arrogated  to  yourself  the  mission  to  purge  the  universe 
and  to  summon  me  —  me  —  before  the  tribunal  of  the 
Church  —  tell  me,  you,  who  aspired  to  take  to  his  bed  the 
spouse  of  the  devil,  till  the  white  lightnings  of  her  passion 
seared  and  blasted  your  carcass,  —  tell  me  —  how  long  am 
I  to  live?  " 

An  inarticulate  shriek  came  from  within. 

"  By  justice  —  till  the  dead  rise  from  their  graves." 

"  Live  forever  —  on  an  empty  phrase?  "  Basil  mocked. 
"  Are  you,  too,  provisioned  for  eternity?  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  as  if  he  were  offering  the  starving 
wretch  food. 

The  monk  fell  on  his  knees.  His  lips  moved,  but  no 
sound  was  audible. 


126   UNDER    THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Perchance  he  hath  a  vision,"  Basil  turned  to  Maraglia 
who  stood  sullenly  by. 

"  Oh,  dull  this  living  agony." 

"  How  long  am  I  to  live?  " 

"  Now,  hear  me,  God,"  screamed  the  monk.  "  Let  not 
this  man  ever  again  know  surcease  from  torment  hi  bed, 
at  board,  hi  body  or  hi  mind.  Let  his  lust  devour  him,  let 
the  worm  burrow  hi  his  entrails,  the  maggot  in  his  brain! 
May  death  seize  and  damnation  wither  him  at  the  moment 
when  he  is  nearest  the  achievement  of  his  fondest  hopes ! " 

Basil  screamed  him  down. 

An  uncontrollable  terror  had  seized  him. 

"  Silence,  beast,  or  I  shall  strangle  you ! " 

"  Libertine,  traitor,  assassin  —  may  heaven's  lightnings 
blast  you  —  " 

For  a  moment  the  two  battled  hi  a  war  of  screeching  blas 
phemy. 

At  the  next  moment  the  grate  was  flung  into  place,  the 
light  whisked  and  vanished,  a  door  slammed  and  the  Stygian 
blackness  of  the  cell  closed  once  more  upon  the  moaning 
heap  in  its  midst. 

Basil's  eyes  gleamed  like  live  coals  as  he  turned  to  Mara 
glia,  who,  quaking  and  ashen,  was  babbling  a  prayer  between 
white  lips. 

"  Make  an  end  of  him! "  he  snarled.  "  He  has  lived 
too  long.  And  now,  hi  the  devil's  name,  lead  the  way  above !  " 

A  flash  of  lightning  that  seemed  to  rend  the  very  heavens 
illumined  for  a  moment  the  dark  and  tortuous  passage,  its 
sheen  reflected  through  the  narrow  port-holes  on  the  black 
ness  of  the  walls.  It  was  followed  by  a  peal  of  thunder 
so  terrific  that  it  shook  the  vast  pile  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb 
to  its  foundations,  clattering  and  roaring,  as  if  a  thousand 
worlds  had  been  rent  in  twain. 

Maraglia,  who  had  preceded  the  Grand  Chamberlain 
with  the  taper,  uttered  a  wild  shriek  of  terror,  dropped  the 


THE  GRAND  CHAMBERLAIN    127 

light,  causing  it  to  be  extinguished  and  his  fleeting  steps 
carried  him  down  a  night-wrapped  gallery  as  fast  as  his 
limbs  would  carry  him,  utterly  indifferent  to  Basil's  fate  in 
the  Stygian  gloom. 

Paralyzed  with  terror,  the  Grand  Chamberlain  stared 
into  the  inky  blackness.  For  a  moment  it  had  seemed  to 
him  as  if  a  breath  from  an  open  grave  had  indeed  been 
wafted  to  his  nostrils. 

But  it  was  neither  the  thunder,  nor  the  lightning,  neither 
the  swish  of  the  rain  nor  the  roar  of  the  hurricane,  that  had 
prompted  Maraglia's  outcry  and  precipitate  flight  and  his 
abject  terror,  as  we  shall  see. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE   CALL   OF  EBLIS 

N  the  lurid  flash  that  had  il 
lumined  the  gallery,  lighting 
up  rows  of  cells  and  deep  re 
cesses,  Basil  had  seen,  as  if 
risen  from  the  floor,  a  black, 
indefinable  shape,  wrapped  in  a 
long  black  mantle,  the  hood  of 
which  was  drawn  over  its  face. 
Through  its  slits  gleamed  two 
eyes,  like  live  coals.  Of  small 
stature  and  apparently  great  age,  the  bent  apparition  sup 
ported  itself  by  a  crooked  staff,  the  fleshless  fingers  barely 
visible  under  the  cover  of  the  ample  sleeve,  and  resembling 
the  claws  of  some  bird  of  prey. 

At  last  the  terror  which  the  uncanny  apparition  inspired 
changed  to  its  very  counterpart,  as,  defiance  in  his  tone, 
the  Grand  Chamberlain  made  a  forward  step. 

"  Who  goes  there?  —  Friend  or  foe  of  the  Lord  Basil?"  — 
His  voice  sounded  strange  in  his  own  ears. 
A  gibbering  response  quavered  out  of  the  gloom. 
"  What  matters  friend  or  foe  as  long  as  you  grasp  the 
tenure  of  power?  " 

Basil  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  ought  to  know  that  voice.    You  are  Bessarion?  " 

"  I  have  waited  long,"  came  the  drawling  reply. 

There  was  a  pause  brief  as  the  intake  of  a  breath. 

"  What  do  you  demand?  "  — 

"  You  shall  know  in  time." 


THECALLOFEBLIS  129 

"  In  time  comes  death !  " 

"  And  more !  " 

"  It  is  the  hour  that  calls!  " 

"  Are  you  prepared?  " 

"  Show  me  what  you  can  do !  " 

"  For  this  I  am  here !    Are  you  afraid?  " 

The  air  of  mockery  in  the  questioner's  tone  cut  the  speaker 
to  the  quick. 

In  the  intermittent  flashes  of  lightning  Basil  saw  the 
shapeless  form  cowering  before  him  in  the  dusk  of  the  gallery, 
barring  the  way.  But  again  it  mingled  quickly  with  the 
darkness. 

"  Of  whom?  "  Basil  queried. 

There  was  another  pause. 

"  Of  the  Presence !  " 

"  That  craven  hound  Maraglia  has  upset  the  light,"  mut 
tered  Basil.  "  I  cannot  see  you." 

"  Can  you  not  feel  my  presence?  "  came  the  gibbering 
reply. 

"  Even  so !  " 

"  Know  you  what  high  powers  of  night  control  your  life 
—  what  dark-winged  messengers  of  evil  fly  about  you?  " 

"  Your  words  make  my  soul  flash  like  a  thunder  cloud." 

"  And  yet  does  your  power  stand  firm?  " 

"  It  rests  on  deep  dug  dungeons,  where  the  light  of  heaven 
does  not  intrude.  I  spread  such  fear  in  men's  white  hearts 
as  the  craven  have  never  known." 

A  faint  chuckle  came  in  reply. 

"  Only  last  night  I  saw  you  in  the  magic  crystal  sphere  in 
which  I  read  the  dire  secrets  of  Fate.  Above  your  head 
flew  evil  angels.  Beneath  your  horse's  hoofs  a  corpse-strewn 
path." 

"  The  time  is  not  yet  ripe." 

"  Time  does  not  wait  for  him  who  waits  to  dare." 

An  evil  light  flashed  from  Basil's  eyes. 


130   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  What  can  you  do?  " 

Response  came  as  from  the  depths  of  a  grave. 

"  I  shall  conjure  such  shapes  from  the  black  caves  of  fear 
as  have  not  ventured  forth  since  madness  first  began  to 
prowl  among  the  human  race,  when  the  torturing  dusk 
drowns  every  helpless  thing  in  livid  waves  of  shadow.  It 
is  the  spirit  of  your  sire  that  draws  the  evil  legions  to  you." 

Basil  straightened  in  surprise. 

"  What  know  you  of  him?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Dull  prayers 
and  fasts  and  penances,  not  such  freaks  as  this,  were  the 
only  things  he  thought  of." 

From  the  cowled  form  came  a  hiss. 

"  Fool !  Not  that  grunting  and  omnivorous  swine  who 
took  the  cowl,  begat  you!  Your  veins  run  with  fiery  evil 
direct  from  its  fountainhead.  No,  no,  —  not  he!  " 

"  Not  he?  "  shrieked  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  "  If  I  am 
not  his  progeny,  then  whose?  " 

"  Some  mighty  lord's." 

"  The  Duke  of  Beneventum?  " 

"  One  greater  yet." 

"  Bang  Berengar?  " 

"  One  adored  by  him  as  his  liege." 

"  Ha!  I  guess  it  now!  It  was  Otto  the  Great,  he  whose 
fury  gored  the  heart  of  the  Romans." 

"  One  greater  still." 

"  Earth  hath  no  greater  lord." 

"  Is  there  not  heaven  above  and  hell  below?  Your  sire 
rules  the  millions  who  have  donned  fear's  stole  forever. 
He  is  lord  of  lords,  where  all  the  lips  implore  and  none  reply." 

A  flash  of  lightning  gleamed  through  the  gallery. 

A  shadow  passed  over  Basil's  countenance,  like  a  swift 
sailing  cloud. 

Darkness  supervened,  impenetrable,  sepulchral. 

"  Well  may  you  cower,"  gibbered  the  shape  hi  its  inex 
orable  monotone.  "  For  you  came  into  this  life  among 


THE   CALL   OF   EBLIS  131 

the  death-fed  mushrooms  that  grow  where  murder  rots. 
The  moon-struck  wolves  howled  for  three  nights,  and  ill- 
omened  birds  flapped  for  three  days  around  the  tower  where 
she  who  gave  you  life  breathed  her  last." 

A  fitful  muttering  as  of  souls  in  pain  seemed  to  pervade 
the  night-wrapped  galleries,  with  sultry  storm  gusts  breath 
ing  inarticulate  evil.  No  light  save  the  white  flash  of  the 
lightning  revealed  now  and  then  the  uncanny  form  of  the 
speaker.  The  smell  of  rotting  weeds  came  through  the 
crevices  of  the  wall. 

When  Basil,  spell-bound,  found  no  tongue,  the  dark  shape 
continued : 

"  Wrapped  in  midnight's  cloak,  nine  witches  down  in 
the  castle  moat  sang  a  baptismal  hymn  of  horror  as  you 
saw  the  light.  As  mighty  brazen  wings  sounded  the  roaring 
of  the  tempest-churned  seas.  And  above  you  stood  he  who 
holds  the  keys  to  thought's  dark  chambers,  he  in  whose 
ranks  the  sullen  angels  serve,  whose  shadowy  dewless 
wings  cast  evil  on  the  world.  And  I  am  he  whose  palace 
rings  with  the  eternal  Never !  " 

Frozen  with  terror  Basil  listened. 

The  thunder  growled  ever  louder.  A  vampire's  bark 
stabbed  the  darkness;  the  shriek  of  witches  rose  above  the 
tempest,  there  was  a  rattling  of  bones  as  if  skeletons  were 
rising  from  their  graves.  All  round  the  Emperor's  Tomb 
the  ghouls  were  prowling,  and  the  soulless  corpses  were  as 
restless  as  the  fleshless  souls  that  whimpered  and  moaned 
in  the  night.  Giant  bats  flew  to  and  fro  like  evil  spirits. 
The  great  peals  shook  the  huge  pile  from  vault  to  summit. 
The  running  finger  of  the  storm  scribbled  fiery,  cabalistical 
zigzags  on  the  firmament's  black  page.  And  in  every  peal, 
louder  and  louder  as  the  echoes  spread,  Basil  seemed  to 
hear  his  name  shrieked  by  the  weird  powers  of  darkness, 
till,  half  mad  with  terror,  he  cried: 


132   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"Away!  Away!  Your  presence  flings  dark  glare  like 
glowing  lava  —  " 

"  I  come  across  the  night,"  replied  the  voice,  "  ere  death 
has  made  you  mine!  Deserve  the  doom  that  is  prepared 
for  those  who  do  my  bidding.  You  have  shot  into  my  heart 
a  ray  of  blackest  light  —  " 

Basil  held  out  his  hands,  as  if  to  ward  off  some  unseen 
assailant. 

"  Whirl  back  into  the  night  — "  he  shrieked,  but  the 
voice  resumed,  mocking  and  gibbering. 

"  Only  a  coward  will  shrink  from  the  dreadful  boundaries 
between  things  of  this  earth  and  things  beyond  this  earth. 
I  have  sought  you  by  night  and  by  day  —  as  fiercely  as  any 
of  those  athirst  pant  round  hell's  mock  springs!  In  the 
great  vaults  of  wrath,  in  the  sleepless  caverns,  whose  eter 
nal  darkness  is  only  lighted  by  pools  of  molten  stone  that 
bathe  the  lost,  where,  in  the  lurid  light,  the  shadows  dance 
—  I  sit  and  watch  the  lakes  of  torment,  taciturn  and  lone. 
I  summon  you  to  earthly  power  —  to  the  fulfillment  of  all 
your  heart  desires!  "  — 

The  voice  ceased.  All  the  elements  of  hell  seemed  to 
roar  and  shriek  around  the  battlemented  walls. 

There  was  a  pause  during  which  Basil  regained  his  com 
posure. 

At  last  the  dread  shadow  was  looming  across  his  path. 
An  undefined  awe  crept  over  him,  such  as  dark  chasms 
instill;  an  awe  at  his  own  self.  He  would  fain  have  been 
screened  from  his  own  substance.  By  degrees  he  welcomed 
the  tidings  with  a  dark  rapture.  In  himself  lay  the  sub 
stance  of  Evil.  It  was  not  the  Angel  of  Light  that  ruled 
the  reeling  universe.  It  was  the  shadow  of  Eblis  looming 
dark  and  terrible  over  the  lives  of  men.  Long  before  he 
had  ever  guessed  what  rills  of  flaming  Phlegethon  ran  riot 
in  his  veins,  had  he  not  felt  his  pulses  swell  with  joy  at  human 
pain,  had  he  not  played  the  fiend  untaught?  Could  not 


THECALLOFEBLIS  133 

the  Fiend,  as  well  as  God,  live  incarnate  in  human  clay? 
Was  not  the  earth  the  meeting  ground  of  Heaven  and  Hell? 
And  why  should  not  he,  Basil,  defying  Heaven,  be  Hell's 
incarnation?  — 

Ay  —  but  the  day  of  death  and  the  day  of  reckoning ! 
Would  his  parentage  entail  eternal  fire,  or  princely  power 
and  sway  in  the  dark  vaults  of  nameless  terror?  Should 
he  quail  or  thrill  with  awful  exaltation? 

"  And  —  hi  return  for  that  which  I  offer  up  —  King  of 
the  dark  red  glare  —  will  you  give  to  me  what  I  crave  — 
boundless  power  and  the  woman  for  which  my  soul  is  on 
fire?" 

"|Have  you  the  courage  to  snatch  them  from  the  talons 
of  Fate  ?"  came  back  the  gibbering  reply. 

A  blinding  flash  of  lightning  was  succeeded  by  an  appal 
ling  crash  of  thunder. 

"  From  Hell  itself!  "  shrieked  Basil  frenzied.  "  Give  me 
Theodora  and  I  will  fill  the  cup  of  torture  that  I  have  seized 
on  your  shadowy  altars,  and  quaff  your  health  at  the  terrific 
banquet  board  of  Evil  in  toasts  of  torment  —  in  wine  of 
boundless  pain! " 

In  the  quickly  succeeding  flashes  of  lightning  the  dark 
form  seemed  tc  rise  and  to  expand. 

"  I  knew  you  would  not  fail  me !     Come !  " 

For  a  moment  Basil  hesitated,  fingering  the  hilt  of  his 
poniard. 

"  Where  would  you  lead  me?  "  he  queried,  his  tone  far 
from  steady.  "  How  many  of  these  twilights  must  I  traverse 
before  I  see  him  whom  you  serve?  " 

"  That  you  shall  know  to-night!  " 

In  the  deep  and  frozen  silence  which  succeeded  the  ter 
rible  peals  of  thunder  their  retreating  footsteps  died  to  silence 
in  the  labyrinthine  galleries  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb. 

Only  the  dog-headed  Anubis  seemed  to  stare  and  nod 
mysteriously. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE   CRYSTAL   SPHERE 

UTWARDLY  and  in  daylight 
there  was  nothing  noticeable 
about  the  sixth  house  in  the 
Lane  of  the  Sclavonians  in 
Trastevere  beyond  the  fact  that 
it  was  a  dwelling  of  a  superior 
kind  to  those  immediately  sur 
rounding  it,  which  were  chiefly 
ill-favored  cottages  of  fishermen 
and  boatmen,  and  had  about  it 
an  air  of  almost  sombre  retirement. 

It  stood  alone  within  a  walled  court,  containing  a  few  shrubs. 
The  windows  were  few,  high  and  narrow,  and  the  front  bore 
a  rather  forbidding  appearance.  One  ascending  to  the  flat 
roof  would  have  found  it  to  command  on  the  left  a  desolate 
view  of  a  square  devoted  to  executions,  and  on  the  right 
a  scarcely  more  cheerful  prospect  over  the  premises  belong 
ing  to  the  convent  of  Santa  Maria  hi  Trastevere.  Had  the 
visitor  been  farther  able  to  penetrate  into  the  principal 
chamber  of  the  first  floor,  on  the  night  of  the  scene  about 
to  be  related,  he  might  indeed  have  found  himself  well  repaid 
for  his  trouble. 

This  chamber,  which  was  of  considerable  size  and  alto 
gether  devoid  of  windows,  being  lighted  during  the  daytime 
by  a  skylight,  carefully  blinded  from  within,  was  now  duskily 
illumined  by  a  transparent  device  inlaid  into  the  end  wall 
and  representing  the  beams  of  the  rising  moon  gleaming 
from  a  sky  of  azure.  The  extremity  of  the  room,  which 


THE   CRYSTAL   SPHERE         135 

fronted  the  symbol,  was  semi-circular  and  occupied  by  a 
narrow  table,  before  which  moved  a  tall,  shadowy  form 
that  paused  now  and  then  before  a  fire  of  fragrant  sandal 
wood,  which  burned  in  a  brazen  tripod,  passing  his  fingers 
mechanically,  as  it  would  seem,  through  the  bluish  flame. 
In  its  unsteady  flicker  the  strange  figures  on  the  walls,  which 
had  defied  the  decree  of  Time,  seemed  to  nod  fantastically 
when  touched  by  a  fitful  ray. 

This  was  Hormazd,  the  Persian,  the  former  confidant 
and  counsellor  of  Marozia,  in  the  heyday  of  her  glory.  In 
those  days  he  had  held  forth  in  a  turret  chamber  on  the 
summit  of  Castel  San  Angelo,  where  he  would  read  the 
stars  and  indulge  his  studies  in  the  black  arts  to  his  heart's 
content.  Driven  forth  by  Alberic,  after  Marozia's  fall,  the 
Persian  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  the  Trastevere,  where 
he  continued  to  serve  those  who  came  to  him  for  advice, 
or  on  business  that  shunned  the  light  of  day. 

Now  and  then  the  Oriental  bent  his  tall,  spare  form  over 
a  huge  tome  which  lay  open  upon  the  table,  the  inscrutable, 
ascetic  countenance  with  the  deep,  brilliant  eyes  seemingly 
plunged  in  deep,  engrossing  thought,  but  in  reality  listening 
intently,  as  for  the  approach  of  some  belated  caller. 

The  soft  patter  of  hurried  footsteps  on  the  floor  of  the 
corridor  without  soon  rewarded  his  attention.  The  rustle 
of  a  woman's  silken  garments  caused  him  to  give  a  start 
of  surprise.  A  heavy  curtain  was  raised  and  she  glided 
noiselessly  into  his  presence. 

The  woman's  face  was  covered  with  a  silken  vizor,  but 
her  coronet  of  raven  hair  no  less  than  the  matchless  figure, 
outlined  against  the  crimson  glow,  at  once  proclaimed  her 
rank. 

The  first  ceremony  of  silent  greeting  absolved,  the 
Persian's  visitor  permitted  the  black  silken  cloak  which 
had  enveloped  her  from  head  to  toe,  to  fall  away,  revealing 
a  form  exquisitely  proportioned.  The  ivory  pallor  of  the 


136  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

throat,  which  rose  like  a  marble  column  from  matchless 
shoulders,  and  the  whiteness  of  the  bare  arms,  seemed 
even  enhanced  by  the  dusky  background  whose  incense- 
laden  pall  seemed  to  oppress  the  very  walls. 

"  I  am  trusting  you  to-night  with  unreserved  confidence," 
the  woman  spoke  in  her  rich,  vibrant  voice.  "  Many  serve 
me  from  motives  of  selfishness  and  fear.  Do  you  serve  me, 
because  I  trust  you." 

She  laid  her  white  hand  frankly  upon  his  arm  and  the 
Persian,  isolated  above  and  below  the  strongest  impulses 
of  humanity,  shivered  under  her  touch. 

"  What  is  it  you  desire?  "  he  questioned  after  a  pause. 

"  If  you  possess  the  knowledge  with  which  the  vulgar  credit 
you,"  the  woman  said  slowly,  not  without  an  air  of  mockery 
in  her  tone,  "  I  hardly  need  reveal  to  you  the  motives  which 
prompted  this  visit!  You  knew  them,  ere  I  came,  even  as 
you  knew  of  my  coming !  " 

"  You  speak  truly,"  said  Hormazd  slowly,  now  completely 
master  of  himself.  "  For  even  to  the  hour  it  was  revealed 
to  me ! " 

The  woman  scanned  him  with  a  searching  look. 

"  Yet  I  had  confided  in  none !  "  she  said  musingly.  "  Tell 
me  then  who  I  am!  " 

"  You  are  Theodora!  " 

"  When  have  we  met  before?  "  — 

"  Not  in  this  life,  but  in  a  previous  existence.  Our  souls 
touched  then,  predestined  to  cross  each  other  on  a  future 
plane." 

She  removed  her  silken  vizor  and  faced  him. 

The  dark  eyes  at  once  challenged  and  besought.  No 
sculptor  could  have  chiselled  those  features  on  which  a 
divinity  had  recklessly  squandered  all  it  had  to  bestow  for 
good  or  for  evil.  No  painter  could  have  reproduced  the 
face  which  had  wrought  such  havoc  in  the  hearts  of  men. 


THE   CRYSTAL   SPHERE        137 

Like  summer  lightnings  in  a  dark  cloudbank,  all  the  emo 
tions  of  the  human  soul  seemed  to  have  played  therein  and 
left  it  again,  forging  it  in  the  fires  of  passion,  but  leaving 
it  more  beautiful,  more  mysterious  than  before. 

The  Oriental  regarded  her  in  silence,  as  she  stood  before 
him  in  the  flickering  flame  of  the  brazier. 

"  In  some  previous  existence,  you  say? "  she  said  with 
dreamy  interest.  "  Who  was  I  then  —  and  who  were  you?  " 

"  Two  driftless  spirits  on  the  driftless  sea  of  eternity," 
he  replied  calmly.  "  Foredoomed  to  continue  our  passage 
till  our  final  destiny  be  fulfilled." 

"  And  this  destiny  is  known  to  you?  " 

"  Else  I  had  watched  in  vain.  But  you  —  queen  and 
sorceress  —  do  you  believe  in  the  message?  " 

She  pondered. 

"  I  believe,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that  we  make  for  ourselves 
the  destiny  to  which  hereafter  we  must  submit.  I  believe 
that  some  dark  power  can  foretell  that  destiny,  and  more 
—  compel  it!  "  - 

Hormazd  bowed  ever  so  slightly.  There  was  a  dawning 
gleam  of  satire  in  his  brilliant  eyes,  a  glimpse  which  was 
not  lost  on  her. 

Again  the  question  came. 

"  What  is  it  you  desire?  " 

Theodora  gave  an  inscrutable  smile  that  imparted  to  her 
features  a  singular  softness  and  beauty,  as  a  ray  of  sunlight 
falling  on  a  dark  picture  will  brighten  the  tints  with  a  mo 
mentary  warmth  of  seeming  life. 

"  I  was  told,"  she  spoke  slowly,  as  if  trying  to  overcome 
an  inward  dread,  "  that  you  are  known  in  Rome  chiefly 
as  being  the  possessor  of  some  mysterious  internal  force 
which,  though  invisible,  is  manifest  to  all  who  place  them 
selves  under  your  spell!  Is  it  not  so?" 

The  Persian  bowed  slightly. 

"  It  may  be  that  I  have  furnished  the  Romans  with  some- 


138    UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

thing  to  talk  about  besides  the  weather;  that  I  have  made 
a  few  friends,  and  an  amazing  number  of  enemies  —  " 

"  The  latter  argues  in  your  favor,"  Theodora  interposed. 
"  They  say,  furthermore,  that  by  this  same  force  you  are 
enabled  to  disentangle  the  knots  of  perplexity  that  burden 
the  overtaxed  brain." 

Hormazd  nodded  again  and  the  sinister  gleam  of  his  eyes 
did  not  escape  Theodora's  watchful  gaze. 

"  If  this  be  so,"  the  woman  continued,  "  if  you  are  not 
an  impostor  who  exhibits  his  tricks  for  the  delectation  of 
the  rabble,  or  for  sordid  gain  —  exert  your  powers  upon 
me,  for  something,  I  know  not  what,  has  frozen  up  the 
once  overflowing  fountain  of  life." 

The  Oriental  regarded  her  intently. 

"  You  have  the  wish  to  be  deluded — even  into  an  imag 
inary  happiness?  " 

Theodora  gave  a  start. 

"  You  have  expressed  what  I  but  vaguely  hinted.  It  may 
be  that  I  am  tired  "  —  she  passed  her  hand  across  her  brow 
with  a  troubled  gesture  — "  or  puzzled  by  some  infinite 
distress  of  living  things.  Perchance  I  am  going  mad  —  who 
knows?  But,  whatever  the  cause,  you,  if  report  be  true, 
possess  the  skill  to  ravish  the  mind  away  from  its  trouble, 
to  transport  it  to  a  radiant  Elysium  of  illusions  and  ecsta 
sies.  Do  this  for  me,  as  you  have  done  it  for.  another,  and, 
whatever  payment  you  demand,  it  shall  be  yours!" 

She  ceased. 

Faintly  through  the  silence  came  the  chimes  of  convent 
bells  from  the  remote  regions  of  the  Aventine,  pealing  through 
the  fragrant  summer  night  above  the  deep  boom  of  distant 
thunder  that  seemed  to  come  as  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth. 

Hormazd  gave  his  interrogator  a  swift,  searching  glance, 
half  of  pity,  half  of  disdain. 

"  The  great  eastern  drug  should  serve  your  turn,"  he 


THE    CRYSTAL   SPHERE  139 

replied  sardonically.  "  I  know  of  no  other  means  wherewith 
to  stifle  the  voice  of  conscience." 

Theodora  flushed  darkly. 

"  Conscience?  "  she  flashed  in  resentful  accents. 

The  Persian  nodded. 

"  There  is  such  a  thing.  Do  you  profess  to  be  without 
one?  » 

Theodora's  eyes  endeavored  to  pierce  the  inscrutable 
mask  before  her.  The  ironical  curtness  of  the  question 
annoyed  her. 

"  Your  opinion  of  me  does  little  honor  to  your  wisdom," 
she  said  after  a  pause. 

"  A  foul  wound  festers  equally  beneath  silk  and  sack-cloth," 
came  the  dark  reply. 

"  How  know  you  that  I  desire  relief  from  this  imaginary 
malady?  " 

The  Oriental  gave  a  shrug. 

"  Why  does  Theodora  come  to  the  haunts  of  the  Per 
sian?  Why  does  she  ask  him  to  mock  and  delude  her,  as 
if  it  were  his  custom  to  make  dupes  of  those  who  appeal 
to  him?  " 

"  And  are  they  not  your  dupes?  "  Theodora  interposed, 
her  face  a  deeper  pallor  than  before. 

"  Of  that  you  shall  judge  after  I  have  answered  your 
questions,"  Hormazd  returned  darkly.  "  There  are  but 
two  things  in  life  that  will  prompt  a  woman  like  Theodora 
to  seek  aid  of  one  like  myself."  - 

"  You  arouse  my  curiosity !  " 

"  Disappointment  in  power  —  or  love !  " 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  Will  you  help  me?  " 

She  was  pleading  now. 

The  Oriental  sparred  for  time.  It  was  not  his  purpose  to 
commit  himself  at  once. 

"  I  am  but  one  who,  long  severed  from  the  world,  has  long 


140  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

recognized  its  vanities.  My  cures  are  for  the  body  rather 
than  the  soul." 

Theodora's  face  hardened  into  an  expression  of  scorn. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  will  do  nothing  for  me?  " 
she  said  in  a  tone  which  convinced  the  Persian  that  the  time 
for  dallying  was  past. 

The  words  came  slowly  from  his  lips. 

"  I  can  promise  you  neither  self-oblivion  nor  visionary 
joys.  I  possess  an  internal  force,  it  is  true,  a  force  which, 
under  proper  control,  overpowers  and  subdues  the  material, 
and  by  exerting  this  I  can,  if  I  think  it  well  to  do  so,  release 
your  soul,  that  inner  intelligence  which,  deprived  of  its  mun 
dane  matter,  is  yourself,  from  its  house  of  clay  and  allow  it  a 
brief  interval  of  freedom.  But  —  what  in  that  state  its  expe 
rience  may  be,  whether  joy  or  sorrow,  I  cannot  foretell." 

"  Then  you  are  not  the  master  of  the  phantoms  you  evoke?  " 

"  I  am  merely  their  interpreter!  " 

She  looked  at  him  steadfastly  as  if  pondering  his  words, 

"  And  you  profess  to  be  able  to  release  the  soul  from  its 
abode  of  clay?  " 

"  I  do  not  profess,"  he  said  quietly.     "  I  can  do  so!  " 

"  And  with  the  success  of  this  experiment  your  power 
ceases?  You  cannot  tell  whether  the  imprisoned  creature 
will  take  its  course  to  the  netherworld  of  suffering,  or  a  heaven 
of  delight?  " 

"  The  liberated  soul  must  shift  for  itself." 

"  Then  begin  your  incantations,"  Theodora  exclaimed  reck 
lessly.  "  Send  me,  no  matter  where,  so  long  as  I  escape 
from  this  den  of  the  world,  this  dungeon  with  one  small 
window  through  which,  with  the  death  rattle  hi  our  throats, 
we  stare  vacantly  at  the  blank,  unmeaning  horror  of  life. 
Prove  to  me  that  the  soul  you  prattle  of  exists,  and  if  mine 
can  find  its  way  straight  to  the  mainsprings  of  this  revolving 
creation,  it  shall  cling  to  the  accursed  wheels  and  stop  them, 
that  they  may  grind  out  the  torture  of  life  no  more." 


THE  CRYSTAL  SPHERE         141 

She  stood  there,  dark,  defiant,  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of 
the  fallen  angel.  Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly.  She 
seemed  to  challenge  some  invisible  opponent. 

The  tall  sinewy  form  by  her  side  watched  her  as  a  physician 
might  watch  in  his  patient  the  workings  of  a  new  disease, 
then  Hormazd  said  in  low  and  tranquil  tones: 

"  You  are  in  the  throes  of  your  own  overworked  emotions. 
You  are  seeking  to  obtain  the  impossible  —  " 

"  Why  taunt  me?  "  she  flashed.  "  Cannot  your  art  supply 
the  secret  in  whose  quest  I  am?  " 

The  Persian  bowed,  but  kept  silent. 

Again,  with  the  shifting  mood,  the  rare,  half-mournful  smile 
shone  in  Theodora's  face. 

"  Though  you  may  not  be  conscious  of  it,"  she  said,  laying 
her  white  hand  on  his  trembling  arm,  "  something  impels  me 
to  unburden  my  heart  to  you.  I  have  kept  silence  long." 

Hormazd  nodded. 

"  In  the  world  one  must  always  keep  silence,  veil  one's 
grief  and  force  a  smile  with  the  rest.  Is  it  not  lamentable  to 
think  of  all  the  pent-up  suffering,  the  inconceivably  hideous 
agonies  that  remain  forever  unrevealed?  Youth  and  inno 
cence  —  " 

Theodora  raised  her  arm. 

"Was  I  ever— what  they  call  —  innocent?"  she  inter 
posed  musingly.  "  When  I  was  young  —  alas,  how  long 
it  seems,  though  I  am  but  thirty  —  the  dream  of  my  life 
was  love !  Perchance  I  inherited  it  from  my  mother.  She 
was  a  Greek,  and  she  possessed  that  subtle  quality  that 
can  never  die.  What  I  was  —  it  matters  not.  What  I  am  — 
you  know!  " 

She  raised  herself  to  her  full  height. 

"  I  long  for  power.  Men  are  my  puppets.  And  I  long  for 
love!  I  have  sought  it  in  all  shapes,  in  every  guise.  But  I 
found  it  not.  Only  disillusion  —  disappointment  have  been 
my  share.  Will  my  one  desire  be  ever  fulfilled?  " 


142   UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Some  day  you  shall  know,"  he  said  quietly,  keeping  his 
dark  gaze  upon  her, 

"  I  doubt  me  not  I  shall !  But  —  when  and  where?  Tell 
me  then,  you  who  know  so  much !  When  and  where?  " 

Hormazd  regarded  her  quizzically,  but  made  no  immediate 
reply. 

After  a  time  she  continued. 

"  Some  say  you  are  the  devil's  servant !  Show  me  then 
your  power.  Read  for  me  my  fate !  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  challenge. 

"  It  was  not  for  this  you  came,"  the  Persian  said  calmly, 
meeting  the  gaze  of  those  mysterious  wells  of  light  whose 
appeal  none  had  yet  resisted  whom  she  wished  to  bend  to 
her  desires. 

The  woman  turned  a  shade  more  pale. 

"  Then  call  it  a  whim!  " 

"  What  will  it  avail?  " 

Her  eyes  flashed. 

"  My  will  against  —  that  other." 

A  flash  of  lightning  was  reflected  on  the  dark  walls  of  the 
chamber.  The  thunder  rolled  in  grand  sullen  echoes  down 
the  heavens. 

She  heard  it  not. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for?  "  she  turned  to  Hormazd. 

There  was  a  note  of  impatience  in  her  tone. 

"  You  are  of  to-day  —  yet  not  of  to-day !  Not  of  yesterday, 
nor  to-morrow.  To  some  in  time  comes  love  —  " 

"  But  to  me?  " 

His  voice  sank  to  a  frozen  silence. 

She  stood,  gazing  at  him  steadily.  She  was  very  pale,  but 
the  smile  of  challenge  still  lingered  on  her  lips. 

"  But  to  me?  "  she  repeated. 

He  regarded  her  darkly. 

"  To  you?    Who  knows?  —  Some  day  —  " 


THE   CRYSTAL   SPHERE         143 

"  Ah !  When  my  fate  has  chanced !  Are  you  a  cheat  then, 
like  the  rest?  " 

He  was  silent,  as  one  hi  the  throes  of  some  great  emotion. 
She  took  a  step  towards  him.  He  raised  both  hands  as  if 
to  ward  her  off.  His  eyes  saw  shapes  and  scenes  not  within 
the  reach  of  other's  ken. 

"  Tell  me  the  truth,"  she  said  calmly.  "  You  cannot 
deceive  me ! " 

Hormazd  sprinkled  the  cauldron  with  some  white  powder 
that  seethed  and  hissed  as  it  came  in  contact  with  the  glow 
ing  metal  and  began  to  emit  a  dense  smoke,  which  filled 
the  ulterior  of  the  chamber  with  a  strange,  pungent  odor. 

Then  he  slowly  raised  one  hand  until  it  touched  Theodora. 
Dauntless  hi  spirit,  her  body  was  taken  by  surprise,  and 
as  his  clammy  fingers  closed  round  her  own  she  gave  an 
involuntary  start.  With  a  compelling  glance,  still  in  silence, 
he  looked  into  her  face. 

A  strange  transformation  seemed  to  take  place. 

She  was  no  longer  in  the  chamber,  but  in  a  grove  dark 
with  trees  and  shrubbery.  A  dense  pall  seemed  to  obscure 
the  skies.  The  atmosphere  was  breathless.  Even  as  she 
looked  he  was  no  longer  there.  Great  clouds  of  greenish 
vapor  rolled  in  through  the  trees  and  enveloped  her  so  utterly 
as  to  shut  out  all  vision.  It  was  as  if  she  were  alone  hi  some 
isolated  spot,  far  removed  from  the  ken  of  man.  She  was 
conscious  of  nothing  save  the  insistent  touch  of  his  hand 
upon  her  arm. 

Gradually,  as  she  peered  into  the  vapors,  they  seemed 
to  condense  themselves  into  a  definite  shape.  It  was  that 
of  a  man  coming  towards  her,  but  some  invisible  agency 
seemed  ever  to  retard  his  approach.  In  fact  the  distance 
seemed  not  to  lessen,  and  suddenly  she  saw  her  own  self 
standing  by,  vainly  straining  her  gaze  into  space,  indescrib 
able  longing  in  her  eyes. 

A  flash  of  lightning  that  seemed  to  rend  the  vault  of  heaven 


144  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

was  followed  by  so  terrific  a  peal  of  thunder  that  it  seemed 
to  shake  the  very  earth. 

A  shriek  broke  from  Theodora's  lips. 

"It  is  he!  It  is  he!  "  she  cried  pointing  to  the  curtain. 
Hormazd  turned,  hardly  less  amazed  than  the  woman.  He 
distinctly  saw,  in  the  recurrent  flash,  a  face,  pale  and  brood 
ing,  framed  by  the  darkness,  of  which  it  seemed  a  part. 

At  the  next  moment  it  was  gone,  as  if  it  had  melted  into  air. 

Theodora's  whole  body  was  numb,  as  if  every  nerve  had 
been  paralyzed.  The  Persian  was  hardly  less  agitated. 

"  Is  it  enough?  "  she  heard  Hormazd's  deep  voice  say 
beside  her. 

She  turned,  but,  though  straining  her  eyes,  she  could 
not  see  him.  The  flame  in  the  tripod  had  died  down.  She 
was  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

But  her  invincible  will  was  unshaken. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  still  mocked.  "  Having 
seen  the  man  my  soul  desires,  I  must  know  more.  The  end ! 
I  have  not  seen  the  end!  Shall  I  possess  him?  Speak! " 

"  Seek  no  more !  "  warned  the  voice  by  her  side.  "  Seek 
not  to  know  the  end!  " 

She  raised  herself  defiantly. 

"The  end!" 

He  made  no  reply.  She  saw  the  white  vapors  forming 
into  faces.  The  hour  and  the  place  of  the  last  vision  were 
not  clear.  She  saw  but  the  man  and  herself,  standing  to- 
gather  at  some  strange  point,  where  time  seemed  to  count 
for  naught. 

Between  them  lay  a  scarf  of  blue  samite. 

After  a  protracted  silence  a  moan  broke  from  Theodora's  lips. 

The  Persian  took  no  heed  thereof.  He  did  not  even  seem 
to  hear.  But,  beneath  those  half-closed  lids,  not  a  move 
ment  of  the  woman  escaped  his  penetrating  gaze.  Though 
possessed  with  a  vague  assurance  of  his  own  dark  powers, 
controlled  by  his  nerve  and  coolness,  Hormazd  could  read 


THE   CRYSTAL   SPHERE         145 

in  that  fair,  inscrutable  face  far  more  than  in  the  magic 
scrolls. 

And  as  he  scanned  it  now,  from  under  half-shut  lids,  it 
was  fixed  and  rigid  as  marble,  pale,  too,  with  an  unearthly 
whiteness.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  presence. 
She  seemed  to  look  into  space,  yet  even  as  he  gazed,  the 
expression  of  that  wonderfully  fair  face  changed. 

Theodora's  eyes  were  fierce,  her  countenance  bore  a  rigid 
expression,  bright,  cold,  unearthly,  like  one  who  defies  and 
subdues  mortal  pain. 

The  tools  of  love  and  ambition  are  sharp  and  double- 
edged,  and  Hormazd  knew  it  was  safer  to  trust  to  wind  and 
waves  than  to  the  whims  of  woman. 

But  already  her  mood  had  changed  and  her  face  had 
resumed  its  habitual  expression  of  inscrutable  repose. 

"  Is  it  the  gods  or  the  devil  who  sway  and  torture  us  and 
mock  at  our  helplessness? "  she  turned  to  the  Oriental, 
then,  without  waiting  his  reply,  she  concluded  with  a  search 
ing  glance  that  seemed  to  read  his  very  heart. 

"  Report  speaks  true  of  you.  Unknowingly,  unwittingly 
you  have  pointed  the  way.  Farewell!" 

Long  after  she  had  disappeared  Hormazd  stared  at  the 
spot  where  her  swiftly  retiring  form  had  been  engulfed  by 
the  darkness.  Then,  weighing  the  purse,  which  she  had 
left  as  an  acknowledgment  of  his  services,  and  finding  it 
sufficiently  heavy  to  satisfy  his  avarice,  the  Persian  stood 
for  a  time  wrapped  in  deep  thoughts. 

"  That  phantom  at  least  I  could  not  evoke !  "  he  muttered 
to  himself.  "  Who  dares  to  cross  the  path  of  Hormazd?  " 

The  thunder  seemed  to  answer,  for  a  crash  that  seemed 
to  split  the  seven  hills  asunder  caused  the  house  to  rock 
as  with  the  force  of  an  earthquake. 

With  a  shudder  the  Persian  extinguished  the  fire  in  the 
brazier  and  retreated  to  his  chamber,  while  outside  thunder 
and  lightning  and  rain  lashed  the  summer  night  with  the 
force  of  a  tropical  hurricane. 


CHAPTER  IV 


PERSEPHONE 

was  not  Tristan's  other  self, 
conjured  by  the  Persian  from 
the  mystic  realms  of  night  which 
Theodora  had  seen  outlined 
against  the  dark  curtain  that 
screened  the  entrance  into  the 
Oriental's  laboratory.  The  ob 
ject  of  her  craving  had,  indeed, 
been  present  in  the  body,  seek 
ing  in  the  storm  that  suddenly 
lashed  the  city  the  shelter  of  an  apparently  deserted  abode. 
Thus  he  had  unwittingly  strayed  into  the  domain  of  the  astrol 
oger,  finding  the  door  of  his  abode  standing  ajar  after  Theo 
dora  had  entered. 

A  superstition  which  was  part  and  parcel  of  the  Persian's 
character,  caused  the  latter  to  regard  the  undesired  presence 
in  the  same  light  as  did  Theodora,  the  more  so  as,  for  the 
time,  it  served  his  purpose,  although,  when  the  woman  had 
departed,  he  was  puzzled  no  little  over  a  phenomenon  which 
his  skill  could  not  have  conjured  up.  Tristan  had  precipi 
tately  retreated,  so  soon  as  the  woman's  outcry  had  reached 
his  ear,  convinced  that  he  had  witnessed  some  unholy  incan 
tation  which  must  counteract  the  effect  of  the  penances  he  had 
just  concluded  and  during  the  return  from  which  the  tempest 
had  overtaken  him. 

Thoroughly  drenched  he  arrived  at  the  Inn  of  the  Golden 
Shield  and  retired  forthwith,  wondering  at  the  strange  scene 
which  he  had  witnessed  and  its  import. 
Tristan  arose  early  on  the  following  day. 


PERSEPHONE  147 

On  the  morrow  he  was  to  enter  the  service  of  the  Senator 
of  Rome,  who  had  departed  on  his  pilgrimage  to  the  shrines 
of  Monte  Gargano. 

Tristan  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  his  time,  visiting  the 
sanctuaries  and  fitly  preparing  himself  to  be  worthy  of  the 
trust  which  Alberic  had  reposed  in  him.  Yet  his  thoughts 
were  not  altogether  of  the  morrow.  Once  again  memory 
wandered  back  to  the  sunny  days  in  Provence,  to  the  rose 
garden  of  Avalon,  and  to  one  who  perchance  was  walking 
alone  in  the  garden,  along  the  flower-bordered  paths  where 
he  had  found  and  lost  his  greatest  happiness.  — 

Persephone  meanwhile  had  not  been  idle.  It  pleased  her 
for  once  to  propitiate  her  mistress,  and  through  her  own  spies 
she  had  long  been  informed  of  Tristan's  movements,  being 
not  altogether  averse  to  starting  an  intrigue  on  her  own 
account,  if  her  mistress  should  fail  sufficiently  to  impress  the 
predestined  victim.  Her  own  beauty  could  achieve  no  less. 

Drawing  a  veil  about  her  head  and  shoulders  so  as  effec 
tually  to  conceal  her  features,  she  proceeded  to  thread  her 
way  through  the  intricate  labyrinth  of  Roman  thoroughfares. 
When  she  reached  her  destination  she  concealed  herself  in 
a  convenient  lurking  place  from  which  she  took  care  not  to 
emerge  till  she  had  learned  all  she  wished  from  one  who  had 
dogged  Tristan's  footsteps  all  these  weary  days. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me?  "  asked  the  latter  somewhat 
disturbed  by  her  sudden  appearance,  as  he  came  out  of  the 
little  temple  church  of  San  Stefano  in  Rotondo  on  the  brow  of 
the  Caelian  Hill. 

Persephone  had  raised  her  veil  and  in  doing  so  had  taken 
care  to  reveal  her  beautiful  white  arms. 

"  I  am  unwelcome  doubtless,"  she  replied,  after  a  swift 
glance  had  convinced  her  that  there  was  no  one  near  to  wit 
ness  their  meeting.  "  Nevertheless  you  must  come  with 
me  —  whether  you  will  or  no.  We  Romans  take  no  denial. 
We  are  not  like  your  pale,  frozen  women  of  the  North." 


148    UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Subscribing  readily  to  this  opinion,  Tristan  felt  indignant, 
nevertheless,  at  her  self-assurance. 

"  I  have  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  attend  upon  your 
fancies,"  he  said  curtly,  trying  to  pass  her.  But  she  barred 
his  passage. 

"  As  for  your  inclination  to  follow  me,"  Persephone  laughed 
—  "  that  is  a  matter  for  you  to  decide,  if  you  intend  to  prosper 
in  your  new  station." 

She  paused  a  moment,  with  a  swift  side  glance  at  the  man. 
Persephone  had  not  miscalculated  the  effect  of  her  speech, 
for  Tristan  had  started  visibly  at  her  words  and  the  knowledge 
they  implied. 

"  As  for  your  time,"  Persephone  continued  sardonically, 
"  that  is  another  matter.  No  doubt  there  are  still  a  few 
sanctuaries  to  visit,"  she  said  suggestively,  with  tantalizing 
slowness  and  a  tinge  of  contempt  in  her  tones  that  was  far 
from  assumed.  "  Though  I  am  puzzled  to  know  why  one  of 
your  good  looks  and  courage  should  creep  like  a  criminal 
from  shrine  to  shrine,  when  hot  life  pulsates  all  about  us. 
Are  your  sins  so  grievous  indeed?  " 

She  could  see  that  the  thrust  had  pierced  home. 

"  This  is  a  matter  you  do  not  understand,"  he  said, 
piqued  at  her  persistence.  "Perchance  my  sins  are  grievous 
indeed." 

"  Ah !  So  much  the  better,"  Persephone  laughed,  showing 
her  white  teeth  and  approaching  a  step  closer.  "  The  world 
loves  a  sinner.  What  it  dislikes  is  the  long-faced  repentant 
transgressor.  You  are  a  man  after  all  —  it  is  time  enough  to 
become  a  saint  when  you  can  no  longer  enjoy.  Come !  " 

And  the  white  arm  stole  forth  and  a  white  hand  took  hold 
of  his  mantle. 

Every  word  of  the  Circassian  seemed  to  sting  Tristan  like 
a  wasp.  His  whole  frame  quivered  with  anger  at  her  taunts, 
but  he  scorned  to  show  it,  and  putting  a  strong  constraint 
upon  his  feelings  he  only  asked  quietly : 


PERSEPHONE  149 

"  What  would  you  with  me?  Surely  it  was  not  to  tell  me 
this  that  you  have  tracked  me  hither." 

Persephone  thought  she  had  now  brought  the  metal  to  a 
sufficiently  high  temperature  for  fusion.  She  proceeded  to 
mould  it  accordingly.  Nevertheless  she  was  determined  to 
gain  some  advantage  for  herself  in  executing  her  mistress' 
behest. 

"  I  tracked  you  here,"  she  said  slowly,  u  because  I  wanted 
you !  I  wanted  you,  because  it  is  in  my  power  to  render  you 
a  great  service.  Listen,  my  lord,  —  you  must  come  with  me ! 
It  is  not  every  man  hi  Rome  who  would  require  so  much 
coaxing  to  follow  a  good-looking  woman  —  " 

She  looked  very  tempting  as  she  spoke,  but  her  physical 
charms  were  indeed  sadly  wasted  on  the  pre-occupied  man 
before  her,  and  if  she  expected  to  win  from  him  any  overt  act 
of  admiration  or  encouragement,  she  was  to  be  woefully  dis 
appointed. 

"  I  cannot  follow  you,"  he  said.  "  My  way  lies  in  another 
direction.  Besides  —  you  have  said  it  yourself  —  I  am  now 
in  the  service  of  another." 

"  That  is  the  very  reason,"  she  interposed.  "  Have  you 
ever  stopped  to  consider  the  thousand  and  one  pitfalls  which 
your  unwary  feet  will  encounter  when  you  —  a  stranger  — 
unknown  —  hated  perchance  —  attempt  to  wield  the  author 
ity  entrusted  to  you?  What  do  you  know  of  Rome  that  you 
should  hope  to  succeed  when  he,  who  set  you  in  this  hazard 
ous  place,  cannot  quell  the  disturbances  that  break  out  be 
tween  the  factions  periodically?  " 

"  And  why  should  you  be  disposed  to  confer  upon  me  such 
a  favor?  "  Tristan  asked  with  instinctive  caution.  "  I  am 
a  stranger  to  you.  What  have  we  in  common?  " 

Persephone  laughed. 

"  Perchance  I  am  hi  love  with  you  myself  —  ever  since 
that  night  when  you  would  not  enter  the  forbidden  gates. 
Perchance  you  may  be  able  to  serve  me  in  turn  —  some  day. 


150   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

How  cold  you  are !  Like  the  frozen  North !  Come !  Waste 
no  more  time,  if  you  would  not  regret  it  forevermore."  — 

There  was  something  compelling  in  her  words  that  upset 
Tristan's  resolution. 

Still,  he  wavered. 

"  You  have  seen  my  mistress,"  Persephone  resumed,  "  the 
fairest  woman  and  the  most  powerful  in  Rome  —  a  near 
kinswoman,  too,  of  your  new  master  —  the  Senator." 

The  words  startled  Tristan. 

"  It  needs  but  a  word  from  her  to  make  you  what  she 
pleases,"  she  continued,  as  they  delved  into  the  now  dark 
ening  streets.  "  She  is  headstrong  and  imperious  and  does 
not  brook  resistance  to  her  will." 

Tristan  remembered  certain  words  Alberic  had  spoken 
to  him  at  their  final  parting.  It  behooved  him  to  be  on  his 
guard,  yet  without  making  of  Theodora  an  open  enemy. 
"  Be  wary  and  circumspect,"  had  been  the  Senator's  parting 
words. 

"  Did  the  Lady  Theodora  send  you  for  me?  "  he  asked, 
with  some  anxiety  in  his  tone.  "  And  how  did  you  know 
where  to  find  me  in  a  city  like  this?  " 

"  I  know  a  great  many  things  —  and  so  does  my  mistress," 
Persephone  made  smiling  reply.  "  But  she  does  not  choose 
every  one  to  be  as  wise  as  she  is.  I  will  answer  both  your 
questions  though,  if  you  will  answer  one  of  mine  in  return. 
The  Lady  Theodora  did  not  mention  you  by  name,"  Per 
sephone  prevaricated,  "  yet  I  do  not  think  there  is  another 
man  hi  Rome  who  would  serve  her  as  would  you.  —  And  now 
tell  me  in  turn.  —  Deem  you  not,  she  is  very  beautiful?  " 

"  The  Lady  Theodora  is  very  beautiful,"  Tristan  replied 
with  a  hesitation  that  remained  not  unremarked.  "  Yet, 
what  is  there  in  common  between  two  strangers  from  the 
farthest  extremities  of  the  earth?  " 

"  What  is  there  hi  common?  "  Persephone  smiled.  "  You 
will  know  ere  an  hour  has  sped.  But,  if  you  would  take 


PERSEPHONE  151 

counsel  from  one  who  knows,  you  will  do  wisely  to  ponder 
twice  before  you  choose  —  your  master.  Silence  now ! 
Step  softly,  but  follow  close  behind  me !  It  is  very  dark  under 
the  trees." 

They  had  arrived  on  Mount  Aventine.  Before  them,  in 
the  dusk,  towered  the  great  palace  of  Theodora. 

After  cautioning  him,  Persephone  led  Tristan  through  a 
narrow  door  in  a  wall  and  they  emerged  in  a  garden.  They 
were  now  hi  a  fragrant  almond  grove  where  the  branches  of 
the  trees  effectually  excluded  the  rays  of  the  rising  moon, 
making  it  hardly  possible  to  distinguish  Persephone's  tall 
and  lithe  form. 

Presently  they  emerged  upon  a  smooth  and  level  lawn, 
shut  hi  by  a  black  group  of  cedars,  through  the  lower  branches 
of  which  peeped  the  crescent  moon  and,  turning  the  corner 
of  a  colonnade,  they  entered  another  door  which  opened  to 
Persephone's  touch  and  admitted  them  into  a  long  dark 
passage  with  a  lamp  at  the  farther  end. 

"  Stay  here,  while  I  fetch  a  light,"  Persephone  whispered 
to  Tristan  and,  gliding  away,  she  presently  returned,  to 
conduct  him  through  a  dark  corridor  into  another  passage, 
where  she  stopped  abruptly  and,  raising  some  silken  hang 
ings,  directed  him  to  enter. 

"  Wait  here.     I  will  announce  you."  — 


CHAPTER  V 


MAGIC   GLOOMS 

LOODS  of  soft  and  mellow  light 
dazzled  Tristan's  eyes  at  first, 
but  he  soon  realized  the  lux 
urious  beauty  of  the  retreat  into 
which  he  had  been  ushered.  It 
was  obvious  that,  despite  a  deca 
dent  age,  all  the  resources  of 
wealth  had  been  drawn  upon 
for  its  decoration.  The  walls 
were  painted  in  frescoes  of  the 
richest  colorings  and  represented  the  most  alluring  scenes. 
Around  the  cornices,  relics  of  imperial  Rome,  nymphs  and 
satyrs  in  bas-relief  danced  hand  in  hand,  wild  woodland 
creatures,  exultant  in  all  the  luxuriance  of  beauty  and  re 
dundancy  of  strength;  and  yonder,  where  the  lamp  cast  its 
softest  glow  upon  her,  stood  a  marble  statue  of  Venus  Ana- 
dyomene,  her  attitude  expressive  of  dormant  passion  lulled 
by  the  languid  insolence  of  power  and  tinged  with  an  imperi 
ous  coquetry,  the  most  alluring  of  all  her  charms. 

Tristan  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat,  wishing  that  he  had 
not  come,  wondering  how  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  thus 
beguiled,  wondering  what  it  was  all  about,  when  a  rustling 
of  the  hangings  caused  him  to  turn  his  head.  There  was 
no  more  attraction  now  hi  bounding  nymph  or  marble  enchant 
ress.  The  life-like  statue  of  Venus  was  no  longer  the  master 
piece  of  the  chamber  for  there,  hi  the  doorway,  appeared 
Theodora  herself. 
Tristan  rose  to  his  feet,  and  thus  they  stood,  confronting 


MAGIC   GLOOMS  153 

each  other  in  the  subdued  light  —  the  hostess  and  her  guest 
-  the  assailant  and  the  assailed. 

Theodora  trembled  in  every  limb,  yet  she  should  have 
remained  the  calmer  of  the  two,  inasmuch  as  hers  could 
scarcely  have  been  the  agitation  of  surprise.  Such  a  step 
indeed,  as  she  had  taken,  she  had  not  ventured  upon  without 
careful  calculation  of  its  far  reaching  effect.  Determined 
to  make  this  obstinate  stranger  pliable  to  her  desires,  to 
instill  a  poison  into  his  veins  which  must,  hi  time,  work  her 
will,  she  had  deliberately  commanded  Persephone  to  con 
duct  him  to  this  bower,  the  seductive  air  of  which  no  one 
had  yet  withstood. 

Theodora  was  the  first  to  speak,  though  for  once  she 
hardly  knew  how  to  begin.  For  the  man  who  stood  before 
her  was  not  to  be  moulded  by  a  glance  and  would  match  his 
will  against  her  own.  Such  methods  as  she  would  have 
employed  under  different  circumstances  would  here  and 
now  utterly  fail  in  their  intent.  For  once  she  must  not 
appear  the  dominant  factor  in  Rome,  rather  a  woman  wronged 
by  fate,  mankind  and  report.  Let  her  beauty  do  the  rest. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,"  she  said,  *'  because  something 
tells  me  that  I  can  rely  implicitly  on  your  secrecy.  From 
what  I  have  seen  of  you, I  believe  you  are  incapable  of  betray 
ing  a  trust." 

Theodora's  words  had  the  intended  effect.  Tristan, 
expecting  reproach  for  his  intentional  slight  of  her  advances, 
was  thrown  off  his  guard  by  the  appeal  to  his  honor.  His 
confusion  at  the  sight  of  the  woman's  beauty,  enhanced  by 
her  gorgeous  surroundings,  was  such  that  he  did  but  bow  in 
acknowledgment  of  this  tribute  to  his  integrity. 

Theodora  watched  him  narrowly,  never  relinquishing  his 
gaze,  which  wandered  unconsciously  over  her  exquisite 
form,  draped  in  a  diaphanous  gown  which  left  the  snowy 
arms  and  hands,  the  shoulders  and  the  round  white  throat 
exposed. 


154  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  I  have  been  told  that  you  have  accepted  service  with 
the  Lord  Alberic,  who  has  offered  to  you,  a  stranger,  the 
most  important  trust  in  his  power  to  bestow." 

Tristan  bowed  assent. 

"  The  Lord  Alberic  has  rewarded  me,  far  beyond  my  de 
serts,  for  ever  so  slight  a  service,"  he  replied,  without  refer 
ring  to  the  nature  of  the  service. 

Theodora  nodded. 

"  And  you  —  a  stranger  in  the  city,  without  counsellor  — 
without  friend.  Great  as  the  honor  is,  which  the  Senator 
has  conferred  upon  you  —  great  are  the  pitfalls  that  lurk 
in  the  hidden  places.  Doubtlessly,  the  Lord  Alberic  did 
not  bestow  his  trust  unworthily.  And,  in  enjoining  above 
all  things  watchfulness  —  he  has  doubtlessly  dropped  a  word 
of  warning  regarding  his  kinswoman,"  here  Theodora  dropped 
her  lids,  as  if  she  were  reluctantly  touching  upon  a  distasteful 
subject,  "  the  Lady  Theodora?  " 

As  suddenly  as  she  had  dropped  her  lids  as  suddenly  her 
eyes  sank  into  the  unwary  eyes  of  Tristan.  The  scented 
atmosphere  of  the  room  and  the  woman's  nearness  were 
slowly  creeping  into  his  brain. 

"The  Lord  Alberic  did  refer  to  the  Lady  Theodora,"  he 
stammered,  loth  to  tell  an  untruth,  and  equally  loth  to  wound 
this  beautiful  enigma  before  him. 

"I  thought  so!"  Theodora  interposed  with  a  smile, with 
out  permitting  him  to  commit  himself.  "  He  has  warned 
you  against  me.  Admit  it,  my  Lord  Tristan.  He  has  put 
you  on  your  guard.  And  yet  —  I  fain  would  be  your  friend  —  " 

"  The  Lord  Alberic  seems  to  count  you  among  his  enemies," 
Tristan  replied.  The  mention  of  an  accepted  fact  could  not, 
to  his  mind,  be  construed  into  betraying  a  confidence. 

Theodora  smiled  sadly. 

"  The  Lord  Alberic  has  been  beguiled  into  this  sad  attitude 
by  one  who  was  ever  my  foe,  perchance,  even  his.  Time 
will  tell.  But  it  was  not  to  speak  of  him  that  I  summoned 


MAGIC   GLOOMS  155 

you  hither.  It  is  because  I  would  appear  lovable  in  your 
eyes.  It  is,  because  I  am  not  indifferent  to  your  opinion, 
my  Lord  Tristan.  Am  I  not  rash,  foolish,  impulsive,  in  thus 
placing  myself  in  the  power  of  one  who  may  even  now  be 
planning  my  undoing?  One  who  on  a  previous  occasion  so 
grievously  misjudged  my  motives  as  to  wound  me  so  cruelly?  " 

The  woman's  appeal  knocked  at  the  portals  of  Tristan's 
heart.  Would  she  but  state  her  true  purpose,  relieve  this 
harrowing  suspense.  She  had  propounded  the  question 
with  a  deepening  color,  and  glances  that  conveyed  a  tale. 
And  it  was  a  question  somewhat  difficult  to  answer. 

At  last  he  spoke,  stammeringly,  incoherently: 

"I  shall  try  to  prove  myself  worthy  of  the  LadyTheodora's 
confidence." 

She  seemed  somewhat  disappointed  at  the  coldness  of  his 
answer,  nevertheless  her  quick  perception  showed  her  where 
she  had  scored  a  point,  in  making  an  inroad  upon  his  heart. 
And  her  critical  eye  could  not  but  approve  of  the  proud  atti 
tude  he  assumed,  the  look  that  had  come  into  his  face. 

She  edged  a  little  closer  to  him  and  continued  in  a  subdued 
tone. 

"  A  woman  is  always  lonely  and  helpless  —  no  matter 
what  may  be  her  station.  How  liable  we  are  to  be  deceived 
or  —  misjudged.  But  I  knew  from  the  first  that  I  could 
trust  you.  Do  you  remember  when  we  first  met  in  the 
Navona?  " 

Again  the  warm  crimson  of  the  cheek,  again  the  speaking 
flash  from  those  luring  eyes.  Tristan's  heart  began  to  beat 
with  a  strange  sensation  of  excitement  and  surprise.  To 
love  this  wonder  of  all  women  —  to  be  loved  by  her  in  return 
—  life  would  indeed  be  one  mad  delirium. 

"  How  could  I  forget  it?  "  he  said,  more  warmly  than  he 
intended,  meeting  her  gaze.  "  It  was  on  the  day  when  I 
arrived  in  Rome." 

Her  eyes  beamed  on  him  more  benevolently  than  ever. 


156    UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  I  saw  you  again  at  Santa  Maria  of  the  Aventine.  I  sent 
for  you,"  she  said,  with  drooping  lids," because  I  so  wanted 
some  one  to  confide  in.  I  have  no  counsellor,  —  no  cham 
pion  —  no  friend.  The  object  of  hatred  to  the  rabble  which 
stones  those  to-day  before  whom  it  cringed  yesterday  —  I 
am  paying  the  penalty  of  the  name  I  bear  —  kinship  to  one 
no  longer  among  the  living.  But  you  scorned  my  messenger. 
Why  did  you?  " 

She  regarded  Tristan  with  expectant,  almost  imploring 
eyes.  She  saw  him  struggling  for  adequate  utterance. 
Continuing,  she  held  out  to  him  her  beautiful  hands.  Her 
tone  was  all  appeal. 

"  I  want  you  to  feel  that  Theodora  is  your  friend.  That 
you  may  turn  to  her  hi  any  perplexity  that  may  beset  you, 
that  you  may  call  upon  her  for  counsel  whenever  you  are 
in  doubt  and  know  not  what  to  do.  And  oh!  I  want  you 
to  know  above  all  things  how  much  you  could  be  to  me,  did 
you  but  trust  —  had  not  the  drop  of  poison  instilled  by  the 
Senator  set  you  against  the  one  woman  who  would  make 
you  great,  envied  above  all  men  on  earth!  " 

Tristan  bent  over  Theodora's  hands  and  kissed  them. 
Cool  and  trusting,  yet  with  a  firm  grasp,  they  encircled  his 
burning  palms  and  then*  whiteness  caused  his  senses  to  reel. 

"  In  what  manner  can  I  be  of  service  to  the  Lady  Theo 
dora?  "  he  spoke  at  last,  unable  to  let  go  of  those  wonderful 
hands  that  sent  the  hot  blood  hurtling  to  his  brain. 

Theodora's  face  was  very  close  to  his. 

As  she  spoke,  her  perfumed  breath  softly  fanned  his 
cheeks. 

She  spoke  with  well-studied  hesitancy,  like  a  child  that, 
in  preferring  an  overbold  request,  fears  denial  in  the  very 
utterance. 

"  It  is  a  small  thing,  I  would  ask,"  she  said  in  her  wonder 
fully  melodious  voice.  "I  would  once  again  visit  the  places 
where  I  have  spent  the  happy  days  of  my  childhood,  the 


MAGIC   GLOOMS  157 

galleries  and  chambers  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb.  You  start, 
my  Lord  Tristan !  Perchance  this  speech  may  sound  strange 
to  the  ears  of  one  who,  though  newly  arrived  in  Rome,  has 
heard  but  vituperations  showered  upon  the  head  of  a  de 
fenceless  woman,  who,  if  not  better,  is  at  least  not  worse 
than  the  rest  of  her  kind.  Yes  —  "  she  continued,  return 
ing  the  pressure  of  his  fingers  and  noting,  not  without  inward 
satisfaction,  a  soft  gleam  that  had  dispelled  the  sterner  look 
in  his  eyes,  "  those  were  days  of  innocence  and  peace,  broken 
only  when  the  older  sister,  my  equal  in  beauty,  began  to 
regard  me  as  a  possible  rival.  Stung  by  her  taunts  I  leaped 
to  her  challenge  and  the  fight  for  the  dominion  of  Rome  was 
waged  between  us  with  all  the  hot  passion  of  our  blood. 
Marozia  conquered,  but  Death  stood  by  unseen  to  crown  her 
victory.  The  Mount  of  Cloisters  is  my  asylum.  The  gates 
of  the  Emperor's  Tomb  are  sealed  to  me  forever  more.  Why 
should  Alberic,  disregarding  the  ties  of  blood,  fear  a  woman 
-  unless  he  hath  deeply  wronged  her,  even  as  he  has  wronged 
another  who  wears  the  crown  of  thorns  upon  earth?  " 

Theodora  paused, her  lids  half-shut  as  if  to  repress  a  tear; 
in  reality  to  scan  the  face  of  him  who  found  her  tale  most 
strange  indeed. 

And,  verily,  Tristan  was  beginning  to  feel  that  he  could 
not  depend  upon  himself  much  longer.  The  subdued  lights, 
the  heavy  perfume,  the  room  itself,  the  seductive  beauty  of 
this  sorceress  so  near  to  him  that  her  breath  fanned  his 
cheeks,  the  touch  of  her  hands,  which  had  not  relinquished 
his  own,  were  making  wild  havoc  with  his  senses  and  reason. 

Like  many  a  gentle  and  inexperienced  nature,  Tristan 
shrank  from  offending  a  woman's  delicacy,  by  even  appear 
ing  to  question  the  truth  of  her  words,  and  he  doubted  not 
but  that  here  was  a  woman  who  had  been  sinned  against 
much  more  than  she  had  sinned,  a  woman  capable  of  gentler, 
nobler  impulses  than  were  credited  to  her  in  the  common 
reckoning.  It  required  indeed  a  powerful  constraint  upon 


158   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

his  feelings  not  to  give  way  to  the  starved  impulse  that  drove 
him  to  forget  past,  present  and  future  in  her  embrace. 

A  sad  smile  played  about  the  small  crimson  mouth  as 
Theodora,  with  a  sigh,  continued: 

"  I  have  quaffed  the  joys  of  life.  There  is  nothing  that 
has  remained  untasted.  And  yet  —  I  am  not  happy.  The 
fires  of  unrest  drive  me  hither  and  thither.  After  years  of 
fiercest  conflict,  with  those  of  my  own  sex  and  age,  who 
consider  Rome  the  lawful  prey  of  any  one  that  may  usurp 
Marozia's  fateful  inheritance,  I  have  had  a  glimpse  of  Heaven 
-  a  Heaven  that  perchance  is  not  for  me.  Yet  it  aroused 
the  desire  for  peace  —  happiness  —  love !  Yes,  my  Lord 
Tristan,  love!  For  though  I  have  searched  for  it  in  every 
guise,  I  found  it  not.  Will  the  hour  every  toll  —  even 
for  me?  Deem  you,  my  Lord  Tristan,  that  even  one  so  guilt 
lost  as  Theodora  might  be  loved?  " 

"  How  were  it  possible,"  he  stammered,*'  for  mortal  eyes 
to  resist  such  loveliness?  " 

His  words  sounded  stilted  in  his  ears.  Yet  he  knew  if 
he  permitted  the  impulse  to  master  him  he  would  be  swept 
away  by  the  torrent. 

The  woman  also  knew,  and  woman-like  she  felt  that  the 
poison  rankled  in  his  veins.  She  must  give  it  time  to  work. 
She  must  not  precipitate  a  scene  that  might  leave  him  sobered, 
when  the  fumes  had  cleared  from  his  brain. 

Putting  all  the  witchery  of  her  beauty  into  her  words  she 
said,  with  a  tinge  of  sadness: 

"  I  fear  I  am  trespassing,  my  Lord  Tristan.  It  is  so  long, 
since  I  have  unveiled  the  depths  of  my  heart.  Forget  the 
request  I  have  made.  It  may  conflict  with  your  loyalty 
to  my  Lord  Alberic.  I  shall  try  to  foster  the  memories  of 
the  place  which  I  dare  not  enter  —  " 

She  had  ventured  all  upon  the  last  throw,  and  she  had 
conquered. 

"  Nay,  Lady  Theodora,"  Tristan  interposed,  with  a  se- 


MAGIC   GLOOMS  159 

riousness  that  even  staggered  the  woman.  "  There  is  no 
such  clause  or  condition  in  the  agreement  between  the  Lord 
Alberic  and  myself.  It  is  true,"  he  added  hi  a  solemn  tone, 
"  he  has  warned  me  of  you,  as  his  enemy.  Report  speaks 
ill  of  you.  Nevertheless  I  believe  you." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  Lord  Tristan,"  she  said,  releasing  his 
hands.  "  Theodora  never  forgets  a  service.  Three  nights 
hence  I  am  giving  a  feast  to  my  friends.  You  will  not  fail 
me?" 

"  I  am  happy  to  know,"  he  said,  "  that  the  Lady  Theodora 
thinks  kindly  of  me.  I  shall  not  fail  her.  And  now  "  —  he 
added,  genuine  regret  in  his  tone  —  "  will  the  Lady  Theodora 
permit  me  to  depart?  The  hour  waxes  late  and  there  is  much 
to  be  done  ere  the  morrow's  dawn." 

Theodora  clapped  her  hands  and  Persephone  appeared 
between  the  curtains. 

"  Farewell,  my  Lord  Tristan.  We  shall  speak  of  this 
again,"  she  said,  beaming  upon  him  with  all  the  seductive  fire 
of  her  dark  eyes,  and  he,  bowing,  took  his  leave. 

When  Persephone  returned,  she  was  as  much  puzzled  at 
the  inscrutable  smile  that  played  about  her  mistress'  lips  as 
she  had  been  at  Tristan's  abstracted  state  of  mind,  for,  hardly 
noting  her  presence,  he  had  walked  in  silence  beside  her  to 
the  gate,  and  had  there  taken  silent  leave.  - 


CHAPTER   VI 


THE   LURE   OF   THE   ABYSS 

HE  sun  had  sunk  to  rest  in 
fleecy  clouds  of  crimson  and 
gold. 

The  clear  and  brilliant  moon 
light  of  Italy  enveloped  hill  and 
dale,  bathing  in  its  effulgence 
the  groves,  palaces  and  ruins  of 
the  Eternal  City.  The  huge 
pile  of  the  Colosseum  was  bathed 
in  its  rosy  glow,  raising  itself  in 
serene  majesty  towards  the  beaming  night  sky. 

A  few  hours  later  a  great  change  had  come  over  the  heav 
ens.  The  wind  had  sprung  up  and  had  driven  the  little  downy 
clouds  of  sunset  into  a  great,  black  mass,  which  it  again  tore 
into  flying  tatters  that  it  swept  before  it.  The  moon  rose  and 
raced  through  the  dun  and  silver.  Below  it,  in  the  vast 
spaces  of  the  deserted  amphitheatre,  from  whose  vomitories 
pale  ghosts  seemed  to  flit,  the  big  boulders  and  rain-left  pools 
looked  dim  and  misty.  Night  had  cast  her  leper's  cloak  on 
nature  and  the  moon  seemed  the  leprous  face. 

Deepest  silence  reigned,  broken  only  by  the  occasional 
hoot  of  an  owl,  or  the  swishing  of  a  bat  that  whirled  its  crazy 
flight  in  and  out  the  labyrinthine  corridors. 

By  the  largest  of  these  boulders  stood  the  dark  cloaked 
form  of  a  man.  As  the  moon-thrown  shadows  of  the  clouds 
swept  over  him  and  the  rude  rock  by  which  he  stood  looking 
up  at  the  sky,  his  black  mantle  flapped  in  the  wind  and  clung 
to  his  limbs,  making  him  look  even  taller  than  he  was. 
At  the  feet  of  Basil  cowered  the  huge  Molossian  hound. 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  ABYSS   161 

As  the  wind  grew  stronger  and  the  clouds  above  assumed 
more  fantastic  shapes,  it  raised  its  head  and  gave  voice  to  a 
low  whine.  On  the  distant  hillocks  a  myriad  dusky  flames 
seemed  to  writhe  and  hiss  and  dart  through  tinted  moon- 
gleams. 

Three  times  he  whistled  —  and  in  the  misty,  moonlit 
expanse  countless  forms,  as  weird  as  himself,  seemed  to  rise 
and  form  a  great  circle  about  him. 

Were  they  the  creatures  of  his  brain  which  had  at  last 
given  way  in  the  excitement  of  the  hour?  Were  they  phan 
toms  of  mist  and  moon,  wreathing  round  him  from  the  desolate 
marshes?  Or  were  they  real  beings  of  flesh  and  blood, 
congregations  of  crime  and  despair,  mad  with  the  misery  of 
a  starving  century,  the  horrors  of  serfdom  and  oppression 
that  had  united  in  the  great  reel  of  a  Witches'  Sabbat? 

Round  him  they  circled,  at  first  slowly,  —  like  the  curls  of 
a  marsh,  then  faster  and  ever  faster,  till  his  eyes  could 
scarcely  follow  them  as  they  rotated  about  him  in  their  horrible 
dance  of  madness  and  sin. 

Black  clouds  raced  over  the  moon.  The  reddish  gleam  of 
a  forked  tongue  of  fire  illumined  the  dark  heavens,  and 
thunder  went  pealing  down  the  hills.  Suddenly  out  of  the 
underbrush  arose  a  black  form,  about  the  height  and  breadth 
of  a  man,  but  without  the  distinct  outlines  of  one.  Basil's 
face  grew  white  as  death,  and  his  gaze  became  fixed  as  he 
clutched  at  the  rock  for  support.  But  the  next  moment  he 
seemed  to  gain  his  reassurance  from  the  knowledge  that  he 
had  seen  this  phantom  before.  The  dog  lay  at  his  feet  and 
continued  its  low  tremulous  whine. 

"  You  have  kept  the  tryst,"  gibbered  the  bent  form  as  it 
slowly  approached,  supporting  itself  upon  a  crooked  staff  of 
singular  height. 

"  Else  were  I  not  the  man  to  compel  fate  to  do  my  bidding," 
responded  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  "  Fear  can  have  no 
part  in  the  compact  which  binds  us.  I  have  live  things  under 


162   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

my  feet  that  clog  my  steps  and  grow  more  stubborn  day  by 
day."  - 

"  Deem  you,  you  can  keep  your  footing  in  the  black  lobbies 
of  hell?  "  gibbered  the  cowled  form.  "  For  you  will  need  all 
your  courage,  if  you  would  reach  the  goal! " 

Basil,  for  a  moment,  faced  his  shadowy  interlocutor  in 
silence.  There  was  a  darker  light  in  his  eyes  when  he  spoke. 

"  Give  me  but  that  which  my  soul  desires  and  I  shall  run 
the  gauntlet  unflinchingly.  I  shall  brace  my  courage  to  the 
dread  experiment." 

A  fierce  gust  of  wind  shook  the  cypresses  and  holm  oaks 
into  shuddering  anxiety. 

"  You  are  about  to  embark  upon  an  enterprise  more  perilous 
than  any  man  now  living  has  ever  ventured  upon,"  spoke  the 
cowled  form.  "  Your  soul  will  travel  through  the  channels, 
through  which  the  red  and  fiery  tide  rolls  up  when  the  volcano 
wakes.  Each  time  it  wakes  the  lava  washes  over  the  lost 
souls,  which,  chained  to  rings  in  the  black  rock,  glow  like 
living  coals,  but  leaves  them  whole,  to  undergo  their  fate 
anew.  Do  you  persist?  " 

"  Give  me  what  I  desire  —  " 

"Ay  —  so  say  they  all  —  but  to  grovel  in  the  dust  before 
the  Unknown  Presence  which  they  have  defied." 

"  Who  are  you  to  taunt  me  with  a  fear  my  soul  knows  not?  " 
Basil  turned  to  the  black-robed  form,  stretching  out  his  hand 
as  if  to  touch  his  mantle. 

A  magnetic  current  passed  through  his  limbs  that  caused 
him  to  drop  his  arm  with  a  cry  of  pain. 

Forked  lightnings  leaped  from  one  cloud-bank  to  another. 

Distant  thunder  growled  and  died  among  the  hills. 

"  I  have  seen  the  fall  of  Nineveh  and  Babylon.  I  was 
present  at  the  destruction  of  the  Holy  City  by  the  legions  of 
Titus,  I  witnessed  the  burning  of  Rome  by  Nero  and  the 
fall  of  the  temple  of  Serapis.  I  stood  upon  Mount  Calvary 
under  the  shadow  of  the  world's  greatest  tragedy." 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  ABYSS   163 

The  voice  of  the  speaker  died  to  silence. 

Basil's  hand  went  to  his  head,  as  if  he  wished  to  assure 
himself  whether  he  was  awake  or  in  the  throes  of  some  mad 
dream. 

It  is  a  narrow  boundary  line,  that  divides  the  two  great 
realms  of  sanity  and  madness.  And  the  limits  are  as  rest 
less  as  those  of  two  countries  divided  from  each  other  by  a 
network  of  shifting  rivers.  What  belonged  to  the  one  over 
night  may  belong  to  the  other  to-morrow. 

An  overmastering  dread  had  seized  upon  Basil  at  the 
speech  of  the  uncanny  apparition.  Was  not  he,  too,  pushing 
his  excursions  now  into  the  one  realm,  now  into  the  other? 
And  who  would  know  hi  which  of  the  two  to  seek  for  him? 

"  Have  you  indeed  wandered  upon  earth  ever  since  those 
days?  "  he  stammered,  once  more  slave  to  his  superstition. 

The  apparition  nodded. 

"  I  have  drunk  deep  from  the  black  wells  of  despair.  I 
have  raised  the  shadowy  altars  of  him  who  was  cast  out  of 
the  heavens,  higher  and  higher,  till  they  almost  touch  the 
throne  of  the  Father." 

"  Your  master  then  is  Lucifer  —  " 

"  Cannot  the  Fiend  as  well  as  God  live  incarnate  in  human 
clay?  Is  not  the  earth  the  meeting  ground  of  Heaven  and 
Hell?  Why  should  not  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  be 
Hell's  incarnation?  "  - 

"  What  then  must  I  do  to  deserve  the  crimson  aureole?  " 

"  Espouse  the  cause  of  him  who  rules  the  shadows.  He 
will  give  to  you  what  your  soul  desires.  One  of  the  shadowy 
congregation  that  rules  the  world  through  fear,  make  quick 
wings  for  Time,  that  crawls  through  eternity  like  a  monstrous 
snake,  while  with  starved  desire  your  eyes  glare  at  the  fleet 
ing  things  of  life  —  dominion,  power  and  love,  that  you  may 
snatch  from  fate!  Only  by  becoming  one  of  us  can  your 
soul  slake  its  thirst.  Speak  —  for  my  time  is  brief  —  " 

When  Basil  turned  towards  the  bent  form  of  the  speaker 


164    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

his  gaze  fell  upon  a  gleaming  knife  which  Bessarion  had 
produced  from  under  the  loose  folds  of  his  gown. 

For  a  moment  the  two  stood  face  to  face.  Neither  spoke, 
each  seemingly  intent  upon  fathoming  the  thoughts  of  the 
other.  The  wind  hissed  and  screamed  through  the  corri 
dors  of  the  Colosseum. 

It  was  Basil  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  What  is  it,  you  want?  " 

"  Bare  your  left  arm !  " 

There  was  a  natural  hollow  in  the  rock,  that  the  weather 
had  scooped  out  in  the  stone  altar. 

Basil  obeyed. 

The  gibbering  voice  rose  again  above  the  silence. 

"  Hold  it  over  the  basin!  " 

The  lightnings  twisted  and  streamed  like  silvery  adders 
through  the  dark  vaults  of  the  heavens,  and  terrific  peals  of 
thunder  shook  the  shuddering  world  in  its  foundations. 

The  bent  form  raised  the  knife. 

Three  drops  of  blood  dripped,  one  by  one,  into  the  hollow 
of  the  stone. 

Bessarion  chanted  some  words  in  an  unintelligible  jargon 
as,  with  a  claw-like  hand,  he  bound  up  the  wound  in  Basil's 
arm. 

"  At  midnight  —  in  the  Catacombs  of  St.  Calixtus  —  you 
will  stand  face  to  face  with  the  Presence,"  the  apparition 
spoke  once  more. 

The  next  moment,  after  a  fantastic  salutation,  he  had 
vanished,  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed  him,  behind  a  pro 
jecting  rock. 

Basil  remained  for  a  time  in  deep  rumination.  The  Mo- 
lossian  hound  rose  up  from  the  ground  as  soon  as  the  adept 
of  the  black  arts  had  disappeared,  and,  sitting  on  its  haunches, 
gazed  inquisitively  into  its  master's  face. 

Suddenly  it  uttered  a  growl. 

At  the  next  moment  the  misshapen  form  of  an  African 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  ABYSS   165 

Moor  crouched  at  the  feet  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  Noise 
lessly  and  swiftly  as  a  panther  he  had  sped  through  the 
waste  spaces  of  the  amphitheatre,  and  even  Basil  could 
not  overcome  a  feeling  of  revulsion  as  he  gazed  into  the 
hairy,  bestial  features  of  Daoud,  whom  he  employed  when 
secrecy  and  despatch  were  essential  to  the  success  of  a 
venture. 

Red  inflamed  eyelids  gleamed  from  a  face  whose  cadav 
erous  tints  seemed  enhanced  by  wiry  black  hair  that  hung 
in  disordered  strands  from  under  a  broad  Spanish  hat. 
Daoud  was  undersized  in  stature,  but  possessed  prodigious 
strength,  and  the  size  of  his  hands  argued  little  in  favor  of 
him  who  had  incurred  the  disfavor  of  his  master  or  his  own. 

This  monster  in  human  guise  Basil  had  acquired  from  a 
certain  nobleman  in  the  suite  of  the  Byzantine  ambassador 
extraordinary  to  the  Holy  See. 

Basil  looked  up  at  the  moon  which  just  then  emerged  from 
the  shadow  of  a  cloud.  Then  he  gave  a  nod  of  satisfaction. 

"  Your  promptness  argues  well  for  your  success,"  he 
turned  to  his  runner  who  was  cowering  at  his  feet,  the  ashen 
face  with  the  blinking  and  inflamed  eyes  raised  to  his  master. 
"  Know  you  the  road  to  southward,  my  good  Daoud?  " 

The  Moor  gave  a  nod  and  Basil  proceeded. 

"  You  must  depart  this  very  night.  Take  the  road  that 
leads  by  Benevento  to  the  Shrines  of  the  Archangel.  You 
will  overtake  the  Senator  and  deliver  into  his  hands  this 
token.  You  will  return  forthwith  and  bring  to  me  —  his 
answer.  Do  I  make  myself  quite  clear  to  your  understand 
ing,  my  good  Daoud?  " 

The  Moor  fell  prostrate  and  touched  Basil's  buskin  with 
his  forehead. 

"  Up !  "  the  latter  spurned  the  kneeling  brute.  "  To 
morrow  night  must  find  you  in  the  Witches'  City." 

With  these  words  he  placed  into  the  Moor's  hand  a  small 
article,  carefully  tied  and  sealed. 


166    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

The  twain  exchanged  a  mute  glance  of  mutual  understand 
ing,  then  Daoud  gave  a  bound,  darted  forward  and  shot  away 
like  an  arrow  from  the  bow.  Almost  instantly  he  was  out  of 
sight. 

The  hound  bounded  after  him  but,  obedient  to  his  master's 
call,  instantly  returned  to  the  latter's  feet. 

For  some  time  Basil  remained  near  the  rock  where  the 
weird  ceremony  had  taken  place. 

"  The  Rubicon  is  passed,"  he  muttered.  "  The  stars  —  or 
the  abyss." 

Then,  slowly  quitting  the  stupendous  ruins  of  the  Amphi 
theatre,  he  took  the  direction  of  the  Catacombs  of  St.  Calixtus. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE   FACE   IN   THE   PANEL 


N  the  following  day  Tristan 
entered  upon  his  duties  as  cap 
tain  of  the  Senator's  guard. 

The  first  person  upon  whom 
he  chanced  on  his  rounds  at  the 
Lateran  was  the  Grand  Cham 
berlain,  who  inquired  affably 
how  his  penitences  were  pro 
gressing  and  expressed  the  hope 
that  he  had  received  final  abso 
lution,  and  that  his  sins  would  not  weigh  too  heavily  upon  his 
soul.  Basil  commended  him  for  his  zeal  in  the  cause  of  the 
Senator,  hinting  incidentally  that  his  duties  between  the  Lat 
eran  and  Castel  San  Angelo  need  not  deprive  him  of  the 
society  of  the  fair  Roman  ladies,  who  would  welcome  the 
stranger  from  Provence  and  would  doubtlessly  enmesh  his 
heart,  if  it  were  not  well  guarded.  He  then  proceeded  to 
caution  Tristan  with  respect  to  his  exalted  prisoner.  Numer 
ous  attempts  at  abduction  had  been  made  from  time  to  time, 
Tristan  having,  by  his  prowess  and  daring,  prevented  the 
last,  emanating  doubtlessly  from  the  Pontiff's  nearest  kith 
and  kin.  The  men  under  him  could  be  fully  relied  upon. 
Nevertheless,  it  behooved  him  to  be  circumspect. 

After  a  time  Basil  departed,  and  Tristan  went  about  his 
business,  inspecting  the  guard  and  familiarizing  himself  with 
the  place  where  he  was  to  keep  his  first  watch. 

The  level  beams  of  the  evening  sun  filled  the  Basilica  of 
St.  John  in  Laterano.  There  were  pearl  lights  and  lights  of 


168    UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

sapphire;  falling  radiances  of  emerald  and  blood-red;  vague 
translucent  greens,  that  seemed  to  tremble  under  spiral 
clouds  of  incense. 

Now  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  Mount  Janiculum.  The 
clouds  at  the  zenith  of  the  heavens  were  rose-hued,  but  it  was 
growing  dark  in  the  valleys,  and  the  great  church  began  to 
take  on  sombre  hues.  It  seemed  to  frown  upon  him,  to  warn 
him  not  to  enter,  an  impression  he  was  long  afterwards  to 
remember,  as  he  strode  through  the  high-vaulted  corridors. 

He  hesitated,  till  the  sound  of  a  distant  chant  reached  his 
ear.  With  a  sort  of  fascination  he  could  not  account  for,  he 
watched  the  advance  of  the  slowly  gathering  gloom,  as  an 
increasing  greyness  stole  into  the  chapels. 

Evening  was  about  to  take  the,  veil  of  night. 

The  light  left  the  stained-glass  windows  and  the  church 
grew  darker  and  darker.  The  altar  steps  lay  now  hi  purple 
shadows  that  were  growing  deeper  and  denser  each  moment. 

Shadowy  forms  seemed  to  be  moving  about  hi  the  sanctu 
aries.  Soon  a  monk  entered  with  a  taper,  lighting  the  lights 
before  some  remote  shrines.  Tristan  could  not  distinguish 
his  features,  for  the  light  was  very  dim.  Yet  it  enabled  him 
to  see  that  there  were  a  few  belated  worshippers  in  the 
church. 

After  a  time  the  great  nave  was  deserted.  As  the  lone 
monk  passed  quickly  through  a  sphere  of  thin  light,  Tristan 
gave  a  start.  It  seemed  a  ghost  in  a  cassock  that  had  van 
ished  in  the  sacristy.  He  told  himself  that  the  impression 
was  absurd,  but  he  could  not  throw^it  off.  He  had  caught  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  a  face  that  had  no  human  likeness,  and 
the  way  in  which  the  cassock  had  flapped  about  the  limbs  of 
the  fleeting  form  seemed  to  suggest  that  it  clothed  a  frame 
that  had  lost  its  flesh. 

Superstitious  fear  began  to  creep  over  him.  He  felt  that 
he  must  seek  the  open,  escape  the  haunting  incense-saturated 
pall,  these  dun  sepulchral  chapels.  Such  light  as  there  was, 


THE  FACE  IN  THE  PANEL   169 

save  what  emanated  from  the  candles  on  the  altar,  came 
from  a  stone  lamp  which  cast  its  glimmer  on  the  vanishing 
form. 

In  every  corner  of  the  vast  nave  now  lay  fast  gathering 
darkness.  The  figures  of  the  saints  seemed  vague  and 
formless.  The  altar  loomed  dim  in  the  shadows. 

All  these  things  Tristan  noted. 

The  whole  interior  of  the  church  was  now  steeped  in  the 
dense  pall  of  night,  illumined  only  by  the  faint  radiance  of 
the  lamp  upon  the  altar,  which  seemed  rather  to  intensify 
than  to  lift  the  gloom. 

A  faint  footfall  was  audible  behind  the  carven  screen,  near 
the  entrance  to  the  chapels.  A  figure,  almost  lost  in  the 
gloom,  glided  into  the  nave,  and  shadows  were  falling  about 
him  like  thin  veils. 

It  was  an  unusual  hour  for  monks  to  be  abroad.  None  the 
less,  he  seemed  sure  of  himself,  for  he  proceeded  without 
hesitation  to  the  altar,  shrouded  as  it  was  in  utter  darkness, 
but  for  the  light  of  one  faint  taper,  which  gleamed  afar,  like 
a  star  in  the  nocturnal  heavens,  driving  the  gloom  a  few  paces 
from  the  carven  stone.  There  the  shrouded  form  seemed  to 
melt  into  the  very  pall  of  night  that  weighed  heavily  upon  the 
time-stained  walls  of  the  Mother  Church  of  Rome. 

At  first  Tristan  thought  it  was  some  belated  penitent  seeking 
forgiveness  for  his  sins,  but  when  the  dark-robed  form  did 
not  return  he  strode  towards  the  altar  to  see  if  he  might 
perchance  be  of  assistance  to  him. 

When  Tristan  reached  the  altar  steps  he  could  discover  no 
trace  of  a  human  being,  though  he  searched  every  nook  and 
corner  and  peered  into  every  chapel,  examined  every  shrine. 

Seized  with  a  strange  restiveness  he  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  before  the  altar  steps.  He  was  far  from  feeling  at  ease. 
He  remembered  the  warning  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  He 
remembered  the  strange  tales  he  had  heard  whispered  of  the 
Pontiff's  prison  house. 


170    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Tristan  suddenly  paused. 

He  thought  he  heard  sibilant  whispers  and  the  low  murmur 
of  voices  from  behind  the  screen  at  the  eastern  transept  of 
the  Capella,  and  at  once  he  began  assembling  the  things  hi 
his  mind  which  might  beset  him  in  the  hour  of  darkness. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Most  Holy  Saviour  of  the  Holy  Stairs, 
the  Scala  Santa  of  the  present  day,  adjoins  the  Lateran 
Church.  At  the  period  of  which  we  write  it  was  still  the 
private  chapel  of  the  popes  in  the  Patriarchium,  and  was 
called  the  Sancta  Sanctorum  on  account  of  the  great  number 
of  precious  relics  it  enshrines. 

To  this  chapel  Tristan  directed  his  steps,  oppressed  by 
some  mysterious  sense  of  evil.  By  a  judicious  disposition 
of  the  men  under  his  command  he  had,  after  a  careful  survey 
of  the  premises,  placed  them  hi  such  a  manner  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  any  one  to  gain  access  to  the  stairs  leading 
to  the  Pontiff's  chamber. 

Had  it  been  a  hallucination  of  his  senses  conjured  up  by 
his  sudden  fear? 

Not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness.  Only  the  echoes  of  his 
own  footsteps  reverberated  uncannily  from  the  worn  mosaics 
of  the  floor.  In  the  dun  distance  of  the  corridors  he  saw  a 
shadow  moving  to  and  fro.  It  was  the  guard  before  the 
entrance  to  a  side-chapel  of  the  Basilica. 

What  caused  Tristan  to  pause  hi  the  night  gloom  of  the 
corridor  leading  to  the  Pontifical  Chapel  he  did  not  know. 
He  seemed  as  under  a  strange  spell.  At  a  distance  from 
him  of  some  five  feet,  hi  the  decorated  wall,  there  was  a  dark 
panel  some  two  feet  hi  height  and  of  corresponding  breadth, 
looking  obliquely  towards  the  Pontifical  Chapel.  The  panel 
contained  a  small  round  opening,  a  spy-hole  which  commu 
nicated  with  a  secret  chamber  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall. 

A  slight  rustling  noise  came  from  behind  the  masonry. 
Tristan  heard  it  quite  distinctly.  It  suggested  the  passing 
of  naked  feet  over  marble. 


THE  FACE  IN  THE  PANEL   171 

Suddenly,  noiselessly  the  panel  parted. 

A  sudden  gleam  of  white,  blinding  light  shot  into  the  chapel 
like  a  spear  of  silver. 

Tristan  paused  with  a  start,  looking  swiftly  and  inquiringly 
at  the  black  slit  in  the  wall  and  as  he  did  so  the  spear  of  light 
shifted  a  little  in  its  passing. 

A  face,  white  with  the  pallor  of  death,  ghastly  and  hideous 
as  a  corpse  that  has  retained  upon  its  set  features  the  agony 
of  dying,  peered  out  from  blackness  into  blackness. 

A  tremor  shook  Tristan's  frame  from  head  to  toe.  He 
could  not  have  cried  out,  had  he  wished  to.  He  felt  as  one 
grazed  by  a  lightning  bolt.  Then,  in  a  flash  that  made  his 
heart  and  soul  shudder  within  him,  he  knew. 

He  had  seen  looking  at  him  a  face  —  the  clean  shaven  face 
of  a  man.  But  it  was  not  human.  It  bore  the  terrible  stig 
mata  of  the  unquenchable  fire;  an  abominable  vision  of  the 
lust  that  cannot  be  satiated,  the  utter,  unconquerable,  fiendish 
malevolence  of  Hell.  A  harsh,  raven-like  croak  broke  the 
stillness,  and  at  the  sound  of  that  cry  the  terrible  face  van 
ished  with  the  swiftness  of  a  trick.  Instead,  a  long  arm, 
clothed  in  a  black  sleeve,  stole  through  the  opening.  A  flash, 
keen  as  that  of  the  lightning,  cut  the  air  and  a  dagger  struck 
the  mosaic  floor  at  Tristan's  feet  with  such  force  that  its 
point  snapped  after  shattering  the  stone,  drawing  fire  from 
the  impact. 

Bounding  back,  Tristan  uttered  a  shrill  cry  of  terror,  but 
when  he  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  panel  only  dim  dun 
dusk  met  his  eyes. 

Rushing  frantically  from  the  corridor  he  now  called  with  all 
his  might.  His  outcries  brought  the  guards  to  the  scene. 
Briefly,  incoherently,  almost  mad  with  terror,  he  told  his 
tale.  They  listened  with  an  air  of  amazement  in  which  sur 
prise  held  no  small  share.  Then  they  accompanied  him 
back  to  the  chapel. 

Arriving  near  the  spot  he  was  about  to  point  to  the  dagger, 


172   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

to  corroborate  his  wild  tale.  But  the  dagger  had  disappeared. 
Only  the  shattered  marble  of  the  floor  lent  testimony  and 
credence  to  his  words. 

On  the  following  morning  an  outcry  of  horror  arose  from 
all  quarters  of  Rome. 

On  the  night  which  preceded  it,  the  Holy  Host  had  been 
taken  from  the  Pontifical  Chapel  hi  the  Lateran. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE   SHADOW  OF   ASRAEL 

T  was  ten  in  the  morning. 

Deep  silence  reigned  in  the 
strange  walled  garden  on  the 
Pincian  Hill  that  surrounded  the 
marble  villa  of  the  Grand  Cham 
berlain.  Only  the  murmur  of 
the  city  below  and  the  soft 
sounds  of  bells  from  tower  and 
campanile  seemed  to  break  the 
dreamlike  stillness  as  they  be 
gan  to  toll  for  High  Mass. 

In  a  circular  chamber  lighted  only  by  lamps,  for  there  were 
no  windows,  and  daylight  never  penetrated  there,  before  an 
onyx  table  covered  with  strange  globes  and  philtres,  sat 
Basil. 

The  walls  of  the  chamber  were  of  wood  stained  purple. 
The  far  wall  was  hidden  by  shelves  on  which  were  many  rolls 
of  vellum  and  papyrus,  spoils  of  pagan  libraries  of  the  past. 
There  were  the  works  of  monks  from  all  the  monasteries  of 
Europe,  illuminated  by  master  bands,  the  black  letter  pages 
glowing  with  red  and  gold,  almost  priceless  even  then.  In 
one  corner  of  the  room  stood  an  iron  chest,  secured  by  locks. 
What  this  contained  no  one  even  dared  to  guess. 

As  the  chimes  from  churches  and  convents  reached  his 
ears,  Basil's  face  paled.  Something  began  to  stir  in  the 
dark  unfathomable  eyes  as  some  unknown  thing  stirs  in 
deep  water.  Some  nameless  being  was  looking  out  of  those 
windows  of  the  soul.  Yet  the  rest  of  the  face  was  unruffled 


174  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

and  expressionless,  and  the  contrast  was  so  horrible  that  a 
spectator  would  have  shrank  away,  cold  fear  gripping  his 
heart,  and  perhaps  a  cry  upon  his  lips. 

Basil  had  closed  the  heavy  bronze  doors  behind  him  when 
he  had  entered  from  the  atrium.  The  floor  of  colored  marbles 
was  flooded  with  the  light  from  the  bronze  lamps.  Before 
him  was  a  short  passage,  hardly  more  than  an  alcove,  termi 
nating  in  a  door  of  cedarwood  behind  a  purple  curtain. 

In  the  dull  yellow  gleam  of  the  lamps  the  chamber  seemed 
cold,  full  of  chill  and  musty  air. 

In  a  moment  however  the  lamps  seemed  to  burn  more 
brightly,  as  Basil's  eyes  became  adjusted  to  then-  lights. 

There  was  the  silence  of  the  tomb.  The  lamps  burnt 
without  a  flicker,  for  there  was  not  a  breath  of  ah*  to  disturb 
their  steady  glow.  The  plan  of  the  room,  its  yellow  lights, 
its  silence,  its  entire  lack  of  correspondence  with  the  outside 
world,  was  Basil's  own.  He  had  designed  it  as  a  port,  as  it 
were,  whence  to  put  out  to  sea  upon  the  tide  of  his  ever- 
changing  moods  hi  the  black  barque  of  sin. 

For  some  tune  he  remained  alone  in  the  silent  room,  dream 
ing  and  brooding  over  greatness  and  power,  that  terrible 
megalomania  that  is  the  last  and  rarest  madness  of  all. 

He  had  read  of  Caligula,  Nero,  and  Domitian,  of  Helio- 
gabalus,  whose  madness  passed  the  bounds  of  the  imaginable. 
Like  gold  and  purple  clouds,  bursting  with  sombre  light  and 
power,  they  had  passed  over  Rome  and  were  gone. 

Then  thoughts  of  the  popes  came  to  him,  those  supreme 
rulers  of  the  temporal  and  spiritual  world  whose  dominion 
had  been  so  superb,  since  they  first  began  to  crown  the  emper 
ors,  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  years  ago. 

In  a  monstrous  and  swiftly  moving  panorama  they  passed 
through  a  brain  that  worked  as  if  it  were  packed  hi  ice.  And 
yet  one  and  all  had  gone  into  the  dark.  The  power  of  none 
had  been  lasting  and  complete. 

But  into  his  reverie  stole  a  secret  glow,  into  his  blood  an 


THE   SHADOW  OF  ASRAEL      175 

intense,  ecstatic  quickening.  For  them  the  hour  had  tolled. 
Each  step  in  life  was  but  one  nearer  the  grave.  Not  so  was 
it  to  be  with  him. 

A  black  fire  began  to  burn  round  his  heart,  coiling  there 
like  a  serpent,  as  he  thought  of  the  illumination  that  was  his, 
the  promise  he  had  received  —  deep  down  in  the  crypts  of 
the  Emperor's  Tomb  and  again  in  the  Catacombs  of  St. 
Calixtus.  And  he  had  fallen  down  and  worshipped,  had 
given  his  soul  to  Darkness  and  abjured  the  Light. 

Satan  should  rule  again  on  earth.  For  this  had  been 
revealed  to  him  by  the  High  Priest  of  Satan  himself,  then  in 
a  vision  by  the  Lord  of  Evil.  To  penetrate  the  mysteries  of 
Hell  with  his  whole  heart  and  soul,  to  strike  chill  terror  into 
the  hearts  of  those  who  worshipped  at  the  altars  of  Christ, 
had  become  Basil's  ambition  for  which  he  would  live  and  die. 

Basil  sat  dreaming  and  gloating  over  his  coming  glory;  a 
glory  in  which  the  woman  whose  beauty  had  stung  him  with 
maddening  desire  should  share,  even  if  he  had  to  drag  her 
before  the  dark  throne  upon  which  sat  the  Unspeakable 
Presence.  The  yellow  light  of  the  lamps  fell  upon  his  unnat 
ural  and  mask-like  face  as  he  sat  rigid  in  his  chair  hypnotized 
by  Hell. 

Christ  had  thrown  his  great  Cross  upon  the  feasts  and 
banquets  of  the  gods.  On  his  head  was  a  crown  of  thorns 
and  the  Stigmata  upon  his  hands  and  feet.  And  the  goblets 
of  red  gold  had  lost  their  brightness.  The  pagan  gods  were 
stricken  dumb.  They  had  faded  away  hi  vapor  and  were 
gone. 

And  with  them  the  fierce  joy  of  living  had  left  the  world. 
Christ  reigned  upon  earth,  implanting  conscience  in  the  souls 
of  men,  that  robbed  ecstasy  of  its  fruition  and  infused  the 
most  delicious  cup  touched  with  the  Aliquid  Amari  of  the 
poet. 

Basil  paced  the  narrow  confines  of  the  room,  and  from  his 
lips  came  the  opening  stanza  of  that  dreadful  parody  of  the 


176   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Good  Friday  hymn  sung  by  the  votaries  of  Satan :  "  Vexilla 
Regis  Prodeunt  Inferni." 

Already  the  banners  of  the  advancing  hosts  were  in  the 
sky.  Soon  —  soon  would  he  appear  himself  —  the  Lord  of 
Darkness ! 

The  room  suddenly  grew  very  chill,  as  if  the  three  dread 
winds  of  Cocytus  were  blowing  through  the  chamber. 

There  was  a  slim  rod  of  copper  suspended  from  the  wall, 
close  to  the  couch  of  dull  grey  damask  upon  which  he  had 
been  reclining.  He  pulled  it  and  somewhere  away  in  the  villa 
a  gong  sounded.  A  moment  later  a  drab  man,  lean  as  a 
skeleton  and  bald  as  an  egg,  with  slanting  eyes  in  an  ashen 
face  and  a  stooping  gait,  came  gliding  noiselessly  into  the 
lamplit  room.  He  wore  a  long  black  cassock,  which  covered 
bis  fleshless  form  from  head  to  toe. 

"  Has  no  one  called?  "    Basil  turned  to  his  factotum. 

"  A  stranger,"  came  the  sepulchral  reply.  "  He  bade  me 
give  you  this!  " 

Basil  took  the  scroll  which  his  famulus  handed  to  him  and 
cut  the  cord. 

A  fiendish  smile  passed  over  his  face  and  lighted  up  the 
dark,  sinister  eyes.  But  quickly  as  the  mood  had  come  it 
left.  It  fell  from  him  as  a  dropped  cloak. 

He  stood  upright,  supporting  himself  on  the  onyx  table, 
while  Horus,  who  only  understood  in  a  dull  dim  way  his 
master's  moods,  assisting  him  in  all  his  villainies,  but  con 
fessing  his  own  share  to  a  household  priest,  stood  impassively 
by. 

"  Give  me  some  wine !  "  Basil  turned  to  the  sinister  Major 
Domo,  and  the  latter  disappeared  and  returned  with  a  jug 
of  Malvasian. 

The  Grand  Chamberlain  grasped  the  jug  which  Horus  had 
brought  him  and  held  it  with  shaking  fingers  to  his  mouth. 
When  he  had  drank  deep  he  dismissed  his  famulus,  struck  a 
fiint  and  burnt  the  scroll  to  pallid  ashes.  Then  he  staggered 


THE  SHADOW  OF  ASRAEL      177 

out  into  the  hall  of  colored  marbles  and  through  it  to  the 
garden  doors. 

The  bronze  gates  trembled  as  they  swung  back  upon  their 
hinges,  and  as  the  full  noon  of  the  quiet  garden  burst  upon 
Basil's  eyes  he  fancied  he  saw  the  fold  of  a  dark  robe  dis 
appear  among  the  cypresses. 

And  now  the  hot  air  of  high  noon  wrapped  him  round  with 
its  warm  southern  life,  flowing  over  the  lithe  body  within  the 
silken  doublet,  drawing  away  the  inward  darkness  and  the 
vaulting  flames  within  his  soul  and  reminding  his  sensuous 
nature  that  the  future  held  gigantic  promise  of  love  and  power. 

The  great  tenor  and  alto  bells  of  St.  John  in  Lateran  were 
beating  the  echoes  to  silver  far  away.  The  roofs  and  palaces, 
domes  and  towers  of  Rome,  were  bathed  hi  sunlight  as  he 
advanced  to  the  embrasure  hi  the  wall  and  once  more  sur 
veyed  the  city. 

The  heat  shimmered  down  and,  through  the  quivering 
sunlit  air,  the  colors  of  the  buildings  shone  like  pebbles  at 
the  bottom  of  a  pool  and  the  white  ruins  glowed  like  a  mirage 
of  the  desert. 

An  hour  later,  regardless  of  the  vertical  sun  rays  that  beat 
down  upon  the  tortuous  streets  of  the  city  with  unabated 
fervor,  the  Grand  Chamberlain  rode  through  the  streets  of 
Rome,  attended  by  a  group  of  men-at-arms  with  the  crest  of 
the  Broken  Spear  in  a  Field  of  Azure  embroidered  upon  their 
doublets. 

As  the  cavalcade  swept  through  the  crowded  streets,  with 
their  pilgrims  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  the  religious  in 
their  habits,  men-at-arms,  flower-sellers,  here  and  there  the 
magnificent  chariot  of  a  cardinal,  many  of  the  people  lowered 
their  eyes  as  Basil  cantered  past  on  his  black  Neapolitan 
charger,  trapped  with  crimson.  More  than  one  made  the 
sign  of  the  horn,  to  avert  the  spell  of  the  evil  eye. 

When  Basil  reached  the  Lateran  he  found  a  captain  of  the 
noble  guard  with  two  halberdiers  hi  their  unsightly  liveries 


178   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

guarding  the  doors.  They  saluted  and  Basil  inquired  whether 
the  new  captain  of  the  guard  was  within. 

"  The  Lord  Tristan  is  within,"  came  the  reply,  and  Basil 
entered,  motioning  to  his  escort  to  await  his  return  outside. 

The  Grand  Chamberlain  traversed  several  anterooms, 
speaking  to  one  or  the  other  of  the  senatorial  guard,  and  on 
every  face  he  read  consternation  and  fear.  Little  groups  of 
priests  stood  together  in  corners,  whispering  among  each 
other;  the  whole  of  the  Lateran  was  aroused  as  by  a  secret 
dread.  Such  deeds,  though  they  were  known  to  have  oc 
curred,  were  never  spoken  of,  and  the  priests  of  the  various 
churches  that  had  suffered  desecration  wisely  kept  their  own 
counsel. 

In  this,  the  darkest  age  in  the  history  of  Rome,  when  crime 
and  lust  and  murder  lurked  in  every  corner,  an  outrage  such 
as  this  struck  every  soul  with  horror  and  awe.  It  was 
unthinkable,  unspeakable  almost,  suggesting  dark  mysteries 
and  hidden  infamies  of  Hell,  which  caused  the  blood  to  run 
cold  and  the  heart  to  freeze. 

When  Basil  had  made  his  way  through  the  crowded  corri 
dors,  receiving  homage,  though  men  looked  askance  at  him  as 
he  passed,  he  came  to  a  chamber  usually  reserved  for  a  wait 
ing  room  in  times  when  the  Pontiff  received  foreign  envoys  or 
members  of  the  priesthood  and  nobility;  a  privilege  from 
which  the  unfortunate  prisoner  in  the  Lateran  was  to  be  for 
ever  debarred. 

Basil  entered  this  chamber,  giving  orders  that  he  was  to  be 
in  no  wise  disturbed  until  he  called  and  those  outside  heard 
him  lock  and  bar  the  door  from  within. 

In  the  exact  centre  of  the  wall,  reaching  within  two  feet  of 
the  ground,  there  was  a  large  picture  of  St.  Sebastian,  barbar 
ously  painted  by  some  unknown  artist. 

Basil  approached  the  picture  and  pressed  upon  the  flat 
frame  with  all  his  strength.  There  was  a  sudden  click,  a 
whirring,  as  of  the  wheels  of  a  clock.  Then  the  picture 


THE   SHADOW   OF  ASRAEL      179 

swung  inward,  revealing  a  circular  stairway  of  stone,  mount 
ing  upward.  Without  replacing  the  panel  door,  Basil  mounted 
the  stairs  for  nearly  a  hundred  steps,  until  he  came  to  a  door 
upon  which  he  beat  with  the  hilt  of  his  poniard. 

An  answering  knock  came  from  within,  and  the  door 
opened.  Basil  entered  a  small  chamber,  lighted  from  above 
by  a  window  in  a  small  dome. 

A  bat-like  figure  stood  before  a  table,  covered  with  strange 
manuscripts.  As  Basil  entered,  a  thin  black  arm  emerged 
from  the  folds  of  the  gown,  which  the  inmate  of  the  chamber 
wore.  Then,  with  a  quick  bird-like  movement,  an  immensely 
thin  hand  twisted  like  a  claw,  wrinkled,  yellow  and  of  incred 
ible  age,  was  stretched  out  toward  the  newcomer. 

On  the  second  finger  of  this  claw  was  a  certain  ring.  Basil 
bent  and  kissed  the  ring.  There  was  another  deft  and  almost 
imperceptible  movement.  When  the  hand  reappeared  the 
ring  was  gone. 

"  It  has  been  done?  "  Basil  turned  to  the  dark-robed  form 
in  bated  whispers. 

The  voice  that  answered  seemed  to  come  from  a  great 
distance.  The  lips  in  the  waxen  face  scarcely  moved.  They 
parted,  that  was  all.  Yet  the  words  were  audible  and  distinct. 

"  It  was  done.    Last  night." 

"  You  were  not  seen?  " 

"  I  wore  the  mask." 

"  Is  it  here?  "  Basil  queried,  his  eyes  flickering  with  a  faint 
reflection  of  that  hate  which  had  blazed  in  them  earlier  in  the 
day. 

"  It  is  not  here." 

"  Where  is  it?  " 

"You  shall  know  to-night!  " 

The  light  faded  out  of  Basil's  eyes. 

"  What  of  the  new  captain?  " 

"  His  presence  is  a  menace." 

In  Basil's  eyes  gleamed  a  sombre  fire. 


180    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  I,  too,  owe  him  a  grudge.    In  good  time ! " 

"  The  time  is  Now !  " 

"Patience!"  replied  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  "He  will 
work  his  own  undoing.  We  dare  not  harm  him  yet." 

"  Only  a  miracle  saved  him  last  night." 

"  Are  there  not  other  churches  in  Rome?  "  — 

"Ay!"  mouthed  the  black  form.  "But  the  time  of  the 
great  sacrifice  draws  near  —  " 

"  I  knew  not  it  was  so  near  at  hand,"  interposed  Basil  with 
a  start. 

"  The  Becco  Notturno  demands  a  bride !  " 

"  How  am  I  to  help  you  in  these  matters?  " 

"  Am  I  to  counsel  the  Lord  Basil?  "  sneered  the  shape. 
"  You  drew  the  crimson  ball." 

"  When  is  it  to  be?  " 

"  Three  weeks  from  to-night.  Mark  you  —  a  stainless 
dove !  " 

Basil  nodded,  an  evil  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say !  As  for  that  other  —  I  am  minded 
to  try  his  mettle  —  " 

"  So  be  it!  "  said  the  shape.  "  Leave  me  now!  You  will 
hear  from  me.  My  familiars  are  everywhere." 

Without  another  word  Basil  arose  and  left  the  chamber. 
In  the  corridor  below  he  met  Tristan. 

"  I  know  all,"  he  cut  short  the  speech  of  the  new  captain 
of  the  guard.  "  All  Rome  is  full  of  it.  How  did  it  happen? 
And  where?  " 

"  Attracted  by  a  noise  as  of  slippered  feet  passing  over 
marble,  I  entered  the  corridor  of  the  Sacred  Stairs,  when 
one  of  the  panels  parted.  A  devilish  apparition  stood 
within,  throwing  the  beam  of  its  lantern  into  the  chapel. 
When  a  chance  ray  of  light  disclosed  my  presence  the 
shape  of  darkness  hurled  a  poniard.  It  missed  me,  thanks 
be  to  Our  Lady,  struck  the  mosaic  of  the  floor  and  broke 
in  two." 


THE   SHADOW  OF  ASRAEL      181 

"  You  have  the  pieces?  "  Basil  queried  affably  and  with 
much  concern. 

"  I  ran  to  the  end  of  the  gallery,  shouting  to  my  men," 
Tristan  replied.  "  When  we  returned  the  blade  had  disap 
peared." 

"  Where  was  it?  "  Basil  queried  with  much  concern  and 
soon  they  faced  the  shattered  mosaic. 

Basil  examined  the  spot  minutely. 

"  From  yonder  panel,  you  say?  "  he  turned  to  Tristan. 

"  The  third  from  the  Capella,"  came  the  ready  reply. 

"  Have  you  searched  the  premises?  " 

"  From  cellar  to  garret."  - 

"  And  discovered  nothing?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  What  of  the  panel?  " 

"  It  defies  our  combined  efforts." 

"  Strange,  indeed." 

Basil  strode  to  the  wall  and  struck  the  spot  indicated  by 
Tristan  with  the  hilt  of  his  poniard.  Then  he  tested  the  wall 
on  either  side. 

"  Can  your  ear  detect  any  difference  in  sound?  " 

A  negative  gesture  came  in  response,  and  with  it  a  puzzled 
look  passed  into  Tristan's  eyes. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Pontiff?  " 

"  We  reported  the  matter  to  His  Holiness." 

"  And?  " 

"  His  Holiness  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  and  said: '  Even 
God's  Vicar  has  no  jurisdiction  in  Hell! '  " 

"  Was  that  all  he  said?  " 

"That  was  all!" 

There  was  a  silence  during  which  Basil  seemed  to  commune 
with  himself. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  matter  of  grave  concern,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Treason  stalks  everywhere.  I  will  send  for  my  Spanish 
Captain,  Don  Garcia.  He  may  be  of  assistance  to  you." 


182    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

And  Basil  turned  and  walked  down  the  corridor. 

After  a  time  Tristan  walked  out  upon  the  terrace  looking 
toward  the  Coelian  Hill. 

A  brilliant  light  beat  upon  domes  and  spires  and  pinnacles, 
and  flooded  the  august  ruins  of  the  Caesars  on  the  distant 
Palatine  and  the  thousand  temples  of  the  Holy  Cross  with 
scintillating  radiance  which  poured  down  from  the  intense 
blue  of  heaven.  — 

The  long  lights  of  the  afternoon  were  shifting  towards  the 
eventide,  giving  place  to  a  limpid  and  colorless  light  that 
silvered  the  adjacent  olive  groves. 

Tristan  roused  himself  with  a  start.  The  sense  of  moving 
like  a  ghost  among  a  world  of  ghosts  had  left  him.  He  was 
once  more  awake  and  aware.  But  even  now  his  sorrow,  his 
fears,  his  hopes  of  winning  again  to  some  safe  harbor  in  the 
storm  tossed  Odyssey  of  his  life,  were  numbed.  They  lay 
heavy  within  him,  but  without  urgency  or  appeal. 

What  did  it  matter  after  all?  Life  was  a  little  thing,  a 
forlorn  minstrel  that  evoked  melancholy  strains  from  a  pipe 
of  oaten  straw.  Life  was  a  little  thing,  nor  death  a  great  one. 
For  his  part  he  would  not  be  loth  to  take  his  poppies  and  fall 
asleep. 

At  one  time  or  another  such  moods  must  come  to  all  of  us 
and  be  endured.  We  must  enter  into  the  middle  country, 
that  dull  Sahara  of  the  soul,  a  broad  belt  of  barren  land  where 
no  angels  seem  to  walk  by  our  side,  nor  can  the  false  voices 
of  demons  lure  us  to  our  harm. 

This  is  the  land  where  we  are  imprisoned  by  the  deeds  of 
others  and  never  by  our  own.  What  we  do  ourselves  will 
send  us  to  Heaven  or  to  Hell;  but  not  to  the  middle  country 
where  the  plains  of  disillusion  are. 

At  last  the  sunset  came. 

The  ashen  color  of  the  olive-trees  flashed  out  into  silver, 
the  undulating  peaks  of  the  Sabine  Mountains  became  faintly 
flushed  and  phantom  fair,  as  in  a  tempest  of  fire  the  sun  sank 


THE   SHADOW   OF   ASRAEL      183 

to  rest.  The  groves  of  ilex  and  arbutus  seemed  to  tremble 
with  delight,  as  the  long  red  heralds  touched  their  topmost 
boughs. 

The  whole  landscape  seemed  to  smile  a  farewell  to  depart 
ing  day.  The  chimes  of  the  Angelus  trembled  on  the  purple 
dusk. 

Night  came  on  apace. 

Tristan  re-entered  the  Lateran  Basilica,  set  the  watch  and 
arranged  with  Don  Garcia  to  spend  the  night  in  the  sacristy, 
while  Don  Garcia  was  to  guard  the  approaches  to  the  Pon 
tifical  Chapel  to  prevent  a  recurrence  of  the  horrible  sacrilege 
of  the  preceding  night. 

One  by  one  the  worshippers  left  the  vast  nave  of  the  church. 
After  a  time  the  sacristans  closed  the  heavy  bronze  doors  and 
extinguished  the  lights,  all  but  the  one  upon  the  altar. 

When  they,  too,  had  departed,  and  deepest  silence  filled 
the  sacred  spaces,  Tristan  emerged  from  a  side  chapel  and 
took  his  station  near  the  entrance  to  the  sacristy,  where,  on 
the  preceding  night,  he  had  seen  the  shadow  disappear. 

How  long  he  had  been  there  hi  dread  and  wonder  he  did 
not  know,  when  two  cloaked  and  hooded  figures  emerged 
slowly  out  of  the  gloom.  He  could  not  tell  whence  they  came 
or  whether  they  had  been  there  all  the  time.  They  bent 
their  steps  towards  the  sacristy  and,  as  they  were  about  to 
pass  Tristan  in  his  hiding-place,  they  paused  as  if  conscious 
of  another  presence. 

"As  we  proceed  hi  this  matter,"  whispered  the  one  voice, 
"I  grow  fearful.  You  know  my  relations  to  the  Senator  —  " 

"  Your  anxiety  moves  me  not,"  croaked  the  other  voice. 
"  Deem  you  to  attain  your  ends  by  mortal  means?  " 

The  voice  caused  Tristan  to  shudder  as  with  an  ague, 
though  he  saw  not  him  who  spoke. 

"  What  of  yourself?  "  whispered  the  first  speaker. 

"  Have  you  forgotten,"  came  the  hoarse  reply,  "  that  either 
I  am  soulless,  or  else  my  spirit,  damned  from  its  beginning, 


184  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

will  scarce  be  saved  by  the  grace  of  Him  I  dare  not  name! 
You  are  defiled  in  the  very  conversing  with  me." 

The  tone  in  which  these  words  were  spoken,  either  defied 
answer,  or,  if  a  response  was  made,  it  did  not  reach  Tristan's 
ears  as  they  slowly,  noiselessly,  proceeded  upon  their  way. 

Tristan  vaguely  listened  for  the  echo  of  their  retreating 
footsteps  as,  passing  behind  the  altar,  they  disappeared,  as  if 
the  earth  had  swallowed  them. 

Now  he  was  seized  with  a  terrible  fear.  What,  if  they  were 
to  repeat  the  sacrilege?  He  thought  he  recognized  the  voice 
of  the  first  speaker;  but  this  no  doubt  was  but  a  trick  of  his 
excited  imagination. 

Determined  to  prevent  so  terrible  a  crime,  he  crept  cau 
tiously  down  the  narrow  passage  through  which  they  had 
disappeared.  Six  steps  he  counted,  then  he  found  himself 
in  a  room  which  seemed  to  be  part  of  the  sacristy,  yet  not  a 
part,  for  a  postern  stood  open  through  which  gleamed  the 
misty  moonlight. 

There  was  little  doubt  in  Tristan's  mind  that  they  had 
passed  out  through  this  postern  which  had  been  left  unguarded, 
and  he  found  his  conjectures  confirmed,  when  his  eye,  accus 
toming  itself  to  the  radiance  without,  saw  two  misty  figures 
passing  along  the  road  that  leads  past  the  Ccelian  Hill  through 
fields  of  ruins. 

Taking  care  so  they  would  not  be  attracted  by  the  sound  of 
his  steps,  Tristan  crept  in  the  shadows  of  roofless  columns, 
shattered  porticoes  and  dismantled  temples,  half  hidden  amid 
the  dark  foliage  that  sprang  up  among  the  very  fanes  and 
palaces  of  old.  At  times  he  lost  sight  of  his  quarry.  Again 
they  would  rise  up  before  him  like  evil  spirits  wandering 
through  space. 

As  Tristan  continued  in  his  pursuit,  he  began  to  be  beset 
by  dire  misgivings. 

The  twain  had  vanished  as  utterly  as  if  the  earth  had 
swallowed  them  and  he  paused  in  his  pursuit  to  gain  his 


THE   SHADOW   OF  ASRAEL      185 

bearings.  Had  he  followed  two  phantoms  or  two  beings  in 
the  flesh?  Had  he  abandoned  his  watch  for  two  penitents 
who  had  perchance  been  locked  in  the  church? 

What  might  not  be  happening  at  the  Lateran  at  this  very 
moment!  How  would  Don  Garcia  construe  his  absence? 

A  tremor  passed  through  his  limbs.  He  started  to  retrace 
his  steps,  but  some  unknown  agency  compelled  him  onward. 

Penetrating  the  gloomy  foliage,  Tristan  found  himself  before 
a  large  ruin,  grey  and  roofless,  from  the  interior  of  which 
came,  muffled  and  indistinct,  the  sound  of  voices. 

Two  men  were  stealthily  creeping  beneath  the  shadow  of  a 
wall  that  extended  for  some  distance  from  the  ruin. 

Both  wore  long  monkish  garbs  and  were  muffled  from  head 
to  toe.  Over  their  faces  they  wore  vizors  with  slits  for  eyes 
and  mouth.  One  of  the  twain  was  spare,  yet  muscular.  His 
companion  walked  with  a  stooping  gait  and  supported  himself 
by  a  staff. 

The  light  which  had  attracted  Tristan,  emanated  from  a 
lantern  which  they  had  placed  on  the  ground  and  which  they 
could  shade  at  will,  but  which  cast  its  fitful  glimmer  over  the 
grass  plot,  revealing  what  appeared  to  be  a  grave,  from  which 
the  mould  had  been  thrown  up.  At  a  short  distance  there 
stood  a  black  and  stunted  yew  tree.  Before  this  they  paused. 

Now,  from  under  his  black  cassock,  the  taller  produced  a 
strange  object,  the  nature  of  which  Tristan  was  unable  to 
discover  by  the  fitful  light  of  the  moon. 

No  sooner  was  it  revealed  to  his  companion,  than  the  latter 
began  to  chant  a  weird  incantation,  in  which  he  who  held  the 
strange  object  joined. 

Louder  and  more  strident  grew  their  voices,  and,  notwith 
standing  the  warmth  of  the  summer  night,  Tristan  felt  an  icy 
shudder  permeate  his  whole  being  while,  with  a  strange 
fascination,  he  watched  the  twain. 

Now  he  who  supported  himself  by  a  staff  uttered  a  shrill 
inarticulate  outcry,  and,  producing  a  long,  gleaming  knife 


186   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

from  under  his  cassock,  stabbed  the  thing  viciously,  while  his 
voice  rose  in  mad,  strident  screams: 

"Emen  Hetan!  Emen  Hetan!  Palu!  Baalberi!  Emen 
Hetan!" 

The  fit  of  madness  seemed  to  have  caught  his  companion. 
Producing  a  knife  similar  to  that  of  the  other  he,  too,  stabbed 
the  object  he  held  in  his  hand,  shrieking  deliriously : 

"Agora!    Agora!     Patrisa!     Agora!" 

An  hour  was  to  come  when  Tristan  was  to  learn  the  terrible 
import  of  the  apparently  meaningless  jumble  which  struck  his 
ear  with  mad  discordance. 

Suddenly  he  felt  upon  himself  the  insane  gleam  of  two  eyes, 
peering  from  the  slits  of  the  bent  figure's  mask. 

There  was  a  death-like  stillness,  as  both  looked  towards  the 
intruder.  Tristan  would  have  fled,  but  his  feet  seemed  rooted 
to  the  spot.  His  energies  were  paralyzed  as  under  the 
influence  of  a  terrible  spell. 

The  stooping  form  raised  aloft  a  small  phial.  A  bluish 
vapor  floated  upward,  in  thin  spiral  curls. 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  Tristan  was  seized  by  a 
great  drowsiness.  His  limbs  refused  to  support  him. 
He  no  longer  felt  the  ground  under  his  feet  His 
hand  went  to  his  head  and,  reeling  like  a  drunken  man,  he 
fell  among  the  tall  weeds  that  grew  in  riotous  profusion  around 
the  ancient  masonry. 

The  setting  moon  shone  out  from  behind  a  fleecy  cloud, 
and  hi  the  pallid  crimson  of  her  light  the  ill-famed  ruins  of 
the  ancient  temple  of  Isis  rose  weird  and  chostly  in  the  summer 
night. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE   FEAST   OF   THEODORA 

FAIRY-LIKE  radiance  pervaded 
the  great  pavilion  in  the  sunken 
gardens  of  Theodora  on  Mount 
Aventine. 

It  was  a  vast  circular  hall, 
roofed  hi  by  a  lofty  dome  of 
richest  malachite,  from  the  cen 
tre  of  which  was  suspended  a 
huge  globe  of  fire,  flinging  blood- 
red  rays  on  the  amber  colored 
silken  carpets  and  tapestries  that  covered  floors  and  walls. 
The  dome  was  supported  by  rows  upon  rows  of  tall  tapering 
crystal  columns,  clear  as  translucent  water  and  green  as  the 
grass  hi  spring,  and  between  and  beyond  these  columns  were 
large  oval  shaped  casements  set  wide  open  to  the  summer 
night,  through  which  the  gleam  of  a  broad  lake,  laden  with 
water  lilies,  could  be  seen  shimmering  hi  the  yellow  radiance 
of  the  moon. 

The  centre  of  the  hall  was  occupied  by  a  long  table  in  the 
form  of  a  horseshoe,  upon  which  glittered  vessels  of  gold, 
crystal  and  silver  hi  the  sheen  of  the  revolving  globe  of  fire, 
heaped  with  all  the  accessories  of  a  sumptuous  banquet,  such 
as  might  have  been  spread  before  the  ancient  gods  of  Olympus 
hi  the  heyday  of  their  legendary  prime. 

Strange  scents  assailed  the  nostrils:  pomegranate  and 
frankincense,  myrrh,  spikenard  and  saffron,  cinnamon  and 
calamus  mingled  their  perfume  with  the  insidious  distillations 


188  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

of  the  jasmine,  and  spiral  clouds  of  incense  rose  from  tripods 
of  bronze  to  the  vaulted  ceiling. 

Inside  the  horseshoe,  black  African  slaves,  attired  in 
fantastic  liveries  of  yellow  and  blue,  crimson  and  white,  orange 
and  green,  carried  aloft  jewelled  flagons  and  goblets,  massive 
gold  dishes  and  great  platters  of  painted  earthenware. 

There  were  wines  from  Cyprus  and  Malvasia,  from  Monte- 
pulciano  and  the  sunny  slopes  of  Hymettus,  Chianti  and 
Lacrymae  Christi. 

The  almost  incredible  brilliancy  of  the  assembled  company, 
contrasting  with  the  fantastic  background,  caught  the  eye  as 
with  a  stab  of  pain,  held  the  gaze  for  a  single  instant  of  frozen 
incredulity,  then  gripped  the  throat  in  a  choking  sensation  by 
reason  of  its  wonder. 

Lounging  on  divans  of  velvet  and  embroidered  satin  from 
the  looms  of  fabled  Cathay,  set  in  the  old  Roman  fashion 
round  the  table,  eating,  drinking,  gossiping  and  occasionally 
bursting  into  wild  snatches  of  song,  were  a  company  of  dis 
tinguished  looking  personages,  richly  and  brilliantly  attired, 
bent  upon  enjoying  the  pleasures  offered  by  the  immediate 
hour.  All  who  laid  claim  to  any  distinction  in  the  seven- 
hilled  city  were  there,  the  lords  of  the  Campagna  and  of  the 
adjacent  fiefs  of  the  Church.  Strangers  from  all  parts  of  the 
inhabited  globe  were  there,  steeping  their  bewildered  brain 
in  the  splendors  that  assailed  their  eyes  on  every  point ;  from 
Africa  and  Iceland,  from  Portugal  and  India,  from  Burgundy 
and  Aquitaine,  from  Granada  and  from  Greece,  from  Germania 
and  Provence,  from  Persia  and  the  Baltic  shores.  Their 
fantastic  and  semi-barbaric  costumes  seemed  to  enhance  the 
grotesque  splendor  of  the  banquet  hall. 

The  Romans  were  acquainting  their  guests  with  the  exalted 
rank  of  the  woman  who  ruled  the  city  as  surely  as  ever  had 
Marozia  from  the  Emperor's  Tomb.  And  the  strangers 
listened  wide-eyed  and  with  bated  breath. 

Near  the  raised  dais  which  Theodora  was  to  occupy,  at  the 


THE  FEAST  OF  THEODORA    189 

head  of  the  table,  there  were  three  couches  reserved  for 
guests  who,  like  the  hostess,  had  not  yet  arrived. 

Below  these,  by  the  side  of  a  martial  stranger  with  the  air 
of  one  who  would  fain  sweep  the  board  clear  of  his  neighbors 
on  either  hand,  devouring  his  food  in  fierce  silence,  sat  the 
Prefect  of  Rome,  endeavoring  to  expound  the  qualities  of  his 
countrymen  to  the  silent  guest,  interspersing  his  encomiums 
now  and  then  with  a  rapturous  eulogy  of  Theodora. 

"  Monstrous  times  have  robbed  us  Romans  of  the  power 
of  the  sword.  But  they  cannot  rob  us  of  the  power  of  the 
spirit,  which  will  endure  forever." 

The  stranger  replied  with  a  stony  stare  of  contempt. 

Beside  the  Lord  Atenulf  of  Benevento  sat  a  tall  girl  with 
heavy  coils  of  blue  black  hah",  eyes  that  smouldered  with  a 
sombre  light,  curved  carnation  lips  set  in  a  perfect,  oval  face, 
and  seeming  more  scarlet  than  they  were,  owing  to  her  ivory 
pallor,  the  tint  of  the  furled  magnolia  bud  which  is,  perhaps, 
only  seen  to  perfection  in  Italy  and  especially  hi  Rome. 

She  looked  at  the  grave-faced  guest  with  quickened  eyes. 

Snatching  some  vine  leaves  from  a  pyramid  of  grapes,  as 
purple  as  the  tapestries  of  Tyre,  she  arose  and  laying  her 
hand  on  the  stranger's  arm,  said  laughingly : 

"  Oh,  what  a  brow!  Dark  as  a  thundercloud  in  June.  Let 
me  crown  you  with  the  leaves  of  the  vine!  Perchance  the 
hour  will  evoke  the  mood!  " 

She  twisted  the  leaves  into  a  wreath  and  dropped  them 
lightly  on  his  head.  The  eyes  of  the  silent  guest,  set  in  a 
face  of  sanguine  color,  leered  viciously,  with  the  looks  of  one 
who  believes  himself,  however  mistakenly,  master  of  himself. 
There  was  a  contemptuous  curl  about  his  lips.  They  were 
thick  lips  and  florid. 

"  Ah! "  he  turned  to  the  girl  in  a  barbarous  jargon,  "  you 
are  one  of  those  who  go  veiled  in  the  streets." 

And  as  he  spoke  his  eyes  leered  with  yet  livelier  malice. 

The  girl  shrank  back. 


190  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Those  who  go  veiled  know  more  than  ordinary  folk,"  she 
replied,  then  mingled  with  the  other  guests. 

A  young  woman  of  great  beauty,  with  light  hair  and  blue 
eyes  sat  beside  young  Fabio  of  the  Cavalli.  Her  bare  arms, 
white  as  snow,  and  of  exquisite  contour,  encircled  his  neck, 
while  he  drank  and  drank.  Now  and  then  she  sipped  of  the 
wine,  Lacrymae  Christi  from  Viterbo,  of  the  greenish  straw 
color  of  the  chrysoberyl. 

Some  one  had  put  red  poppy  leaves  in  Roxana's  hair,  and 
as  she  sat  by  the  side  of  the  youth,  she  had  the  air  and  appear 
ance  of  a  Corybante. 

Now  and  then  she  gave  a  glance  at  the  purple  curtain  in 
the  background,  and  one  who  watched  her  closely  might  have 
seen  a  strange  sparkle  in  the  depths  of  her  clear  blue  eyes. 
With  a  look  of  disappointment  she  turned  away,  as  not  a 
ripple  of  air  stirred  the  curtain's  heavy  fold.  Then  he*r  arms 
stole  anew  round  the  youth,  who  drained  one  goblet  after 
another,  as  if  each  succeeding  one  yielded  up  a  new  secret  to 
him. 

Roxana  marked  it  well. 

Her  eyes  danced  to  his,  whenever  Fabio's  gaze  stole  towards 
the  purple  curtain  which  screened  the  mysterious  garden 
beyond,  in  which  the  spray  of  a  fountain  cast  silvery  showers 
into  branch-shadowed  thickets,  hidden  retreats  and  silent, 
leafy  alcoves,  where  flowers  swooned  in  the  moonlight  and 
gave  up  their  perfume  for  love. 

From  the  immobile  sable  hangings  the  youth's  eyes  wan 
dered  back  to  Roxana's  face,  but  there  lurked  something 
strange  in  their  depths. 

"  Am  I  not  more  beautiful  than  Theodora?  "  whispered  the 
woman  by  his  side,  extending  her  marble  arms  before  her 
lover. 

"  You  are  beautiful,  my  Roxana,"  he  stammered.  "  But 
Theodora  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  on  earth." 

Roxana  turned  very  white  at  his  words. 


THE   FEAST   OF   THEODORA    191 

"  She  has  challenged  me  to  come  to  her  feast,"  she  said  in 
a  low  tone,  audible  only  to  Fabio.  "  Let  her  look  to  herself !  " 

And  her  eyes  were  alight  with  the  desire  of  the  meeting. 

On  an  adjoining  couch  reclined  the  huge  jelly  of  a  man  who 
looked  like  Pan,  enormously  swollen  and  bloated.  His 
paunch  bellied  out  over  the  table  like  a  full  blown  sail.  His 
face  was  stained  with  many  a  night  of  wine.  The  mulberry 
eyes  twinkled  merrily.  The  swollen  lips  babbled  incessantly. 

It  was  the  Lord  Boso  of  Caprara. 

"  They  say  that  seven  devils  were  cast  out  of  Magdalene  • —  " 
he  turned  to  Roxana  — 

The  Lord  of  Norba  interposed. 

"  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bene!  Natura  abhorret  vacuum! 
I  drink  to  the  thirst  to  come !  " 

And  he  raised  his  goblet  and  tossed  it  off. 

The  Lord  Atenulf  rose  to  his  feet,  swaying  and  supporting 
himself  with  one  hand  on  the  table.  His  great  swollen  face, 
big  as  a  ham,  creased  itself  into  merriment. 

"Let  the  wine  ferret  out  the  thirst!"  he  shouted,  and 
drained  off  his  tankard. 

"Argus  hath  a  hundred  eyes!    A  butler  ought  to  have  a 
hundred   hands!"  shouted  the  Lord  of  Camerino.     "Wine, 
-  slaves!    Wine,  —  fill  up  in  the  name  of  Lucifer!  " 

"  My  tongue  is  peeling!  " 

"Wine!     Wine!" 

The  Africans  filled  up  the  empty  tankards. 

"  Privatio  praesupponit  habitum!  "  opined  the  Prefect  of 
Rome. 

"  We  drink  to  Life  and  the  fleeting  Hour." 

"  Pereat  Mors." 

And  the  goblets  clanged. 

"  Who  speaks  of  Death?  "  shrieked  young  Fabio  of  the 
Cavalli,  attempting  to  rise.  The  wine  was  taking  effect  on 
his  brain. 

Roxana  drew  him  back  on  the  couch  beside  her. 


192   UNDER  THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Fill  the  goblets !    A  brimmer  of  Chianti,  red  as  blood  —  " 

"  Or  the  poppies  in  Roxana's  hair!  " 

"  Wine  from  Samos  —  sweetened  with  honey." 

"  A  decoction  of  Nectar  and  Ambrosia." 

The  strangers  who  crowded  the  vast  hall  began  to  join  in 
the  mirth  and  jollity  of  their  Roman  hosts,  their  Oriental 
apathy  or  frozen  stolidity  melting  slowly  in  the  fumes  of  the 
wines. 

A  curtain  had  parted  and  a  bevy  of  girls  clad  in  diaphanous 
gowns  of  finest  silver  gauze  made  their  way  into  the  banquet 
hall  and  took  their  seats,  as  choice  directed,  beside  the  guests. 
Peals  of  laughter  echoed  through  the  vaulted  dome,  and 
excited  voices  were  raised  hi  clamorous  disputations  and 
contentious  arguments.  The  wine  began  to  flow  more  lav 
ishly.  The  assembled  guests  grew  more  and  more  careless 
of  their  utterances.  They  flung  themselves  full  length  upon 
then-  luxurious  couches,  now  pulling  out  handfuls  of  flowers 
from  the  tall  malachite  jars  that  stood  near,  and  pelting  the 
dancing  girls  for  idle  diversion,  now  summoning  the  attendant 
slaves  to  refill  their  wine  cups,  while  they  layjounging  at  ease 
among  the  silken  cushions. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  sudden,  unexplained,  like 
the  presage  of  some  dark  event. 

The  slow  solemn  boom  of  a  bell  sounded  the  hour  of  mid 
night. 

The  voices  had  ceased. 

With  one  accord,  as  though  drawn  by  some  magnetic  spell, 
all  turned  their  eyes  towards  the  purple  curtain  through  which 
Theodora  had  just  entered,  and,  rising  from  their  seats,  they 
broke  into  boisterous  welcome  and  acclaim.  Young  Fabio  of 
the  Cavalli  whose  flushed  face  had  all  the  wanton,  effeminate 
beauty  of  a  pictured  Dionysos,  reeled  forward,  goblet  in  hand 
and,  tossing  the  wine  in  the  air,  so  that  it  splashed  down  at 
his  feet,  staining  his  garments,  he  shouted : 

"  Vanish  dull  moon  and  be  ashamed,  for  a  fairer  planet 


192    JNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Fit!  t."**  £obi«tst    A  brimmer  of  Ohunti,  red  as  blood  --  " 

**  Or  t&i.-  poppies  in  Rox&na's  hair  5  " 

from  Same  x  -  sweetes>**i  with  honey." 
*  4  &$c action  of  T<ifcctar  and  4tafe;'o i*/* 

The  strangers  v.j\o  crowded  tbe  vv^f  '.%;>;»  began  to  join  in 
ifUs  xmrtb  and  'jliiiy  of  thtir  Fdr«.-<a  i^^t;.;,  their  Oriental 
apathv  or  frozen,  stolidity  meltw>&  wk**J.y  in  the  fumes  of  the 
wines. 

A  nuJtair  hiid  parted  ac<i  *  fctvv  »>*  girls  <:lad  m  diaphanous 
gowas  of  finest  t*U.ver  gaiue  ^',K'V-  it.-^  way  into  the  hanquet 
hall  air>  touk  ttiel*  s^ats.  &a  ^l?*>.#  ^jj-^Mctea,  beside  the  guests. 
Pe"Js  o?'  laugbte'  vchfxNJ  ->>»•?.:: ,y?.  t%>e  vrtu<ted  dome,  and 
excited,  voices  vvc-te  rui^eii  Us  ei*m: -rtn:  Disputations  and 
contentious  arguin?it3.  The  rm«  b«|s:Ar.  to  •fiov.'  more  lav 
ishly.  Tbi€»  e<:.som>v*vt  \;-i.-*t^  fwx  wif*  :  -4.  mo^f  c.ireless 
of  their  utteraiiC  l"-*>  £i-.,-«4  th»-»3H  "^t-i  luO  length  upon 
their  luxurious  couchess»  now  puiiia^:  out  handfiils  of  flowers 
from  the  tall  ma'achite  jars  th«t  stncx5.  ;>':••  '-^  the 

dancing  girls  for  i( 

slaves  to  refill  their  %;sa«>:  tups,  v»fc.«'>:  ^>arj»tu%  a.i  ease 

aaiong  the  silken  cushions, 

There  was  a  moment's  sileuce,  sudden,  unexplained,  like 
the  presage  of  some  dark  event. 

The  slow  solemn  boom  of  a  bell  sounded  the  hour  of  mid- 
• 

1H*  <?«.<•  es  ii»>d  ceased. 

Witii  one  accord,  as  though  drawn  by  somft  magnetic  spell, 
all  turned  tfcsar  eyes  towards  the  purple  curt  un  through  which 
Theodora  had  just  entered,  and,  rising  frorri  their  se-.i^,  they 
broke  into  boisterous  welcome  and  acciaicc  Yoati^  f  abio  ol 
the  Cavalli  whobe  tluc-hed  face  had  all  the  ^*atofi,  elieminate 
beauty  of  a  pictured  Dionysos,  reeled  fotwc.;i,  goblet  w  -land 
and,  tossing  tiie  wine  in  the  air?  so  that  it  splashed  d,,wn  at 
his  feet,  staimxig  his  garments,  he  shouted  t 

"  Vanish  aull  mooa  and  be  ashamed,  for  a  iairer  planet 


i  >* 

->  > 

"  Pelting  the  dancing  girls  for  idle  diversion  " 


THE   FEAST  OF   THEODORA     193 

rules  the  midnight  sky !  To  Theodora  —  the  Queen  of 
Love!" 

He  staggered  a  few  paces  towards  her,  holding  the  empty 
goblet  in  his  hand.  His  hair  tossed  back  from  his  brows  and 
entangled  in  a  half-crushed  wreath  of  vine-leaves,  his  gar 
ments  disordered,  his  demeanor  that  of  one  possessed  of  a 
delirium  of  the  senses,  he  stared  at  the  wonderful  apparition 
when,  meeting  Theodora's  icy  glance,  he  started  as  if  he  had 
been  suddenly  stabbed.  The  goblet  fell  from  his  hand  and  a 
shudder  ran  through  his  supple  frame. 

By  the  side  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  who  was  garbed  in 
black  from  head  to  toe,  Theodora  descended  the  steps  that 
led  from  the  raised  platform  into  the  brilliant  hall. 

Greeting  her  guests  with  her  inscrutable  smile,  she  moved 
as  a  queen  through  a  crowd  of  courtiers,  the  changing  lights 
of  crimson  and  green  playing  about  her  like  living  flame,  her 
head,  wreathed  with  jewelled  serpents,  rising  proudly  erect 
from  her  golden  mantle,  her  eyes  scintillating  with  a  gleam  of 
mockery  which  made  them  look  so  lustrous,  yet  so  cold. 

Thus  she  strode  towards  the  dais,  draped  in  carnation^ 
colored  silks  and  surmounted  by  an  arch  of  ebony. 

For  the  space  of  a  moment  she  paused,  surveying  her  guests. 
A  film  seemed  to  pass  over  her  eyes  as  her  gaze  rested  upon 
one  who  had  slowly  arisen  and  was  f acing  her  in  white  silence. 

With  a  slight  bend  of  the  head  Roxana  acknowledged 
Theodora's  silent  greeting;  then,  amidst  loud  shouts  of 
acclaim  she  sank  languidly  upon  her  couch,  trying  to  soothe 
young  Fabio,  who  had  raised  his  fallen  goblet  and  held  it  out 
to  a  passing  slave.  The  latter  refilled  it  with  wine,  which  he 
gulped  down  thirstily,  though  the  purple  liquid  brought  no 
color  to  his  drawn  and  ashen  cheek. 

Theodora  paid  no  heed  to  the  youth's  discomfiture,  but 
Roxana's  face  was  white  as  death,  and  her  lips  were  set  as 
the  lips  of  a  marble  mask  as  she  gazed  towards  the  ebony 
arch,  upon  which  the  eyes  of  all  present  were  riveted. 


194   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

With  a  rustle  as  of  falling  leaves  Theodora's  gorgeous 
mantle  had  released  itself  from  its  jewelled  clasps,  and  had 
slowly  fallen  on  the  perfumed  carpet  at  her  feet. 

A  sigh  quivered  audibly  through  the  hall,  whether  of  joy, 
hope,  desire  or  despair  it  was  difficult  to  tell.  The  pride  and 
peril  of  matchless  loveliness  was  revealed  in  all  its  fatal 
seductiveness  and  invincible  strength.  In  irresistible  per 
fection  she  stood  revealed  before  her  guests  in  a  robe  of 
diaphanous  silver  gauze,  which  clung  like  a  pale  mist  about 
the  wonderful  curves  of  her  form  and  seemed  to  float  about 
her  like  a  summer  cloud.  Her  dazzling  white  arms  were 
bare  to  the  shoulders.  A  silver  serpent  with  a  head  of 
sapphires  girdled  her  waist. 

Sinking  indolently  among  the  silken  cushions  of  the  dais, 
where  she  gleamed  in  her  wonderful  whiteness  like  a  glisten 
ing  pearl,  set  in  ebony,  Theodora  motioned  to  her  guests  to 
resume  their  places  at  the  board. 

She  was  instantly  obeyed. 

The  Grand  Chamberlain  took  what  appeared  to  be  his 
accustomed  seat  at  her  right,  the  seat  at  her  left  remaining 
vacant.  For  a  moment  Theodora's  gaze  rested  thereon  with 
a  puzzled  air,  then  she  seemed  to  pay  no  farther  heed. 

But  a  close  observer  might  have  noted  a  shade  of  dis 
pleasure  on  the  brow  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  which  no 
attempt  at  dissimulation  could  dispel. 

A  triumphant  peal  of  music,  the  clash  of  mingled  flutes, 
hautboys,  tubas  and  harps  rushed  through  the  dome  like  a 
wind  sweeping  in  from  tropical  seas. 

Basil  turned  to  Theodora  with  a  searching  glance. 

"  One  couch  still  awaits  its  guest." 

She  nodded  languidly. 

"  Tristan  —  the  pilgrim.  He  is  late.  Know  you  aught  of 
him,  my  lord?  " 

There  was  an  air  of  mockery  in  her  tone,  not  unmingled 
with  concern. 


THE  FEAST  OF  THEODORA     195 

Basil's  thin  lips  straightened. 

"  Perchance  the  holy  man  hath  other  sheep  in  mind. 
What  is  he  to  you,  Lady  Theodora?  Your  concern  for  him 
seems  of  the  suddenest." 

"  What  is  it  to  you,  my  lord?  "  she  flashed  in  return.  "  Am 
I  accountable  to  you  for  the  moods  that  sway  my  soul?  " 

A  mocking  laugh  startled  both  the  Grand  Chamberlain 
and  Theodora. 

Low  as  the  words  between  them  had  been  spoken,  they 
had  reached  the  ear  of  Roxana.  Watchful  of  every  shade  of 
expression  in  Theodora's  face,  she  was  resolved  to  take  up 
the  gauntlet  her  hated  rival  had  thrown  to  her,  to  draw  her 
out  of  her  defences  into  open  conflict,  for  which  she  longed 
with  all  the  fire  of  her  soul.  Determined  to  wrest  the  domin 
ion  of  Rome  from  Marozia's  beautiful  sister,  she  was  resolved 
to  stake  her  all,  counting  upon  the  effect  of  her  wonderful 
beauty  and  her  physical  perfection,  which  was  a  match  for 
Theodora's  in  every  point. 

This  desire  on  Roxana's  part  was  precipitated  by  the  strange 
demeanor  of  young  Fabio  of  the  Cavalli.  From  the  moment 
Theodora  had  entered  the  banquet  hall  his  fevered  gaze  had 
devoured  her  wonderful  beauty.  A  feverish  restlessness  had 
taken  possession  of  the  youth  and  he  had  rudely  repelled 
Roxana  when  she  tried  to  soothe  his  wine-besotten  brain. 

"  Perchance,"  she  turned  to  Theodora,  "  remembering  how 
Circe  of  old  changed  her  lovers  into  swine,  the  sainted  pilgrim 
no  longer  worships  at  Santa  Maria  of  the  Aventine." 

Theodora  started  at  the  sound  of  her  rival's  hated  voice  as 
if  an  asp  had  stung  her. 

"  Perchance  the  well-known  blandishments  of  our  fair 
Roxana  might  accomplish  as  much,  if  report  speaks  true," 
she  replied,  returning  the  smouldering  challenge  in  the  other 
woman's  eyes. 

"  And  why  not?  "  came  the  purring  response.  "  Am  I  not 
your  match  in  body  and  soul?  " 


196  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Every  vestige  of  color  had  faded  from  Theodora's  cheeks. 
For  a  moment  the  two  women  seemed  to  search  each  other's 
souls,  their  bosoms  heaving,  their  eyes  alight  with  the  desire 
for  the  conflict. 

Roxana  slowly  arose  and  strode  toward  the  vacant  seat  at 
Theodora's  left. 

"  When  you  circled  the  Rosary  on  yesternight,  fairest 
Theodora,"  she  purred,  "  was  he  not  there  —  waiting  for 
you?  " 

Instead  of  Theodora,  it  was  Basil  who  made  reply. 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak?  " 

Again  the  silvery  ripple  of  Roxana's  laughter  floated  above 
the  din. 

"  Perchance,  my  Lord  Basil,  our  fair  Theodora  should  be 
able  to  enlighten  you  on  that  point  —  " 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak?  "     Basil  turned  to  the  woman. 

There  was  something  ominous  in  his  eyes.  His  face  was 
pale. 

Theodora  regarded  him  contemptuously,  her  dark  slum 
brous  eyes  turning  from  him  to  the  woman. 

"  Beware  lest  I  be  tempted  to  strangle  you,"  she  spoke  in 
a  low  tone,  her  white  hands  opening  and  closing  convulsively. 

"  Like  Persephone,  your  Circassian,  —  in  the  Emperor's 
Tomb?"  came  the  taunting  reply. 

Theodora's  face  was  white  as  lightning. 

"  I  should  not  leave  the  work  undone !  " 

"  Neither  should  I,"  came  the  purring  reply,  as  Roxana 
extended  her  wonderful  hands  and  arms.  "  Meanwhile  — 
will  you  not  inform  your  guests  of  the  story  of  the  pilgrim,  who 
wellnigh  caused  Marozia's  sister  to  enter  a  nunnery?  " 

A  group  of  listeners  had  gathered  about. 

Basil  was  swaying  to  and  fro  in  his  seat  with  suppressed  fury. 

"  One  convent  at  least  would  be  damned  from  gable  to 
refectory,"  he  muttered,  emptying  the  tankard  which  one  of 
the  Africans  had  just  replenished. 


THE   FEAST   OF   THEODORA     197 

Theodora  regarded  him  icily.  Her  inscrutable  countenance 
gave  no  hint  of  her  thoughts.  She  did  not  even  seem  to  hear 
the  questions  which  fell  thick  and  fast  about  her,  but  there 
was  something  in  the  velvet  depths  of  her  eyes  that  would 
have  caused  even  the  boldest  to  tremble  in  the  consciousness 
of  having  incurred  her  anger. 

The  Lord  of  Norba  reeled  towards  the  couch,  where  Roxana 
had  taken  her  seat,  blinking  out  of  small  watery  eyes  and 
flu-ting  with  his  lordly  buskins. 

"  How  came  it  about?  " 

"  What  was  he  like?  " 

Theodora  turned  slowly  from  the  one  to  the  other.  Then 
with  a  voice  vibrant  with  contempt  she  said : 

"A  man!" 

"  And  you  were  counting  your  beads?  "  shouted  the  Lord 
Atenulf  in  so  amazed  a  tone,  that  the  guests  broke  out  into 
Deals  of  laughter. 

"  It  was  then  it  happened,"  Roxana  related,  without  relating. 

"  How  mysterious,"  shivered  some  one. 

"  Will  you  not  tell  us?  "  Roxana  challenged  Theodora  anew. 

Their  eyes  met.    Roxana  turned  to  her  auditors. 

"  Our  fair  Theodora  had  been  suddenly  touched  by  the 
spirit,"  she  began  in  her  low  musical  voice.  "  Withdrawing 
from  the  eyes  of  man  she  gave  herself  up  to  holy  meditations. 
In  this  mood  she  nightly  circled  the  Penitent's  Rosary  at 
Santa  Maria  of  the  Aventine,  praying  that  the  saint  might 
take  compassion  upon  her  and  deliver  unto  her  keeping 
a  perfect,  saintly  man,  pure  and  undefiled.  And  to  add 
weight  to  her  own  prayers,  we,  too,  circled  the  Rosary; 
Gisla,  Adelhita,  Pamela  and  myself.  And  we  prayed  very 
earnestly." 

She  paused  for  a  moment  and  looked  about,  as  if  to  gauge 
the  impression  her  tale  was  producing  on  the  assembled 
guests.  Her  smiling  eyes  swept  the  face  of  Theodora  who 
was  listening  as  intently  as  if  the  incident  about  to  be  related 


198  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

had  happened  to  another,  her  sphinx-like  face  betraying  not 
a  sign  of  emotion. 

"  And  then?  " 

It  was  Basil's  voice,  hoarse  and  constrained. 

"  Then,"  Roxana  continued,  "  the  miracle  came  to  pass 
before  our  very  eyes.  Behind  one  of  the  monolith  pillars 
there  stood  one  in  a  pilgrim's  garb,  young  and  tall  of  stature. 
His  gaze  followed  our  rotations,  and  each  time  we  circled 
about  him  our  fair  Theodora  offered  thanks  to  the  saint  for 
granting  her  prayer  —  " 

She  paused  and  again  her  gaze  mockingly  swept  Theo 
dora's  sphinx-like  face. 

"  And  then?  "  spoke  the  voice  of  Basil. 

"  When  our  devotions  had  come  to  a  close,"  Roxana  turned 
to  the  speaker,  "  Theodora  sent  Persephone  to  conduct  the 
saintly  stranger  to  her  bowers.  And  then  the  unlocked  for 
happened.  The  saintly  stranger  fled,  like  Joseph  of  old.  He 
did  not  even  leave  his  garb." 

There  was  an  outburst  of  uproarious  mirth. 

"  But  do  these  things  ever  happen?"  fluted  the  Poet  Bembo. 

"  In  the  realms  of  fable,"  shouted  the  Lord  of  Norba. 

"  Now  men  have  become  wiser." 

"  And  women  more  circumspect." 

Theodora  turned  to  the  speaker. 

"  Perchance  traditions  have  been  merely  reversed." 

"  Some  recent  events  do  not  seem  to  support  the  theory," 
drawled  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

Theodora  regarded  him  with  her  strange  inscrutable  smile. 

"  Who  knows,  —  if  all  were  told?  " 

"  The  fact  remains,"  Roxana  persisted  in  her  taunts, 
"that  our  fair  Theodora's  power  has  its  limits;  that  there  is 
one  man  at  least  whom  she  may  not  drug  with  the  poison 
sweetness  of  her  song." 

In  Theodora's  eyes  gleamed  a  smouldering  fire,  as  she  met 
the  insufferable  taunts  of  the  other  woman. 


THE   FEAST  OF   THEODORA    199 

"Why  do  you  not  try  your  own  charms  upon  him,  fairest 
Roxana?  "  she  turned  to  her  tormentor.  "  Charms  which, 
I  grant  you,  are  second  not  even  to  mine." 

Roxana's  bosom  heaved.  A  strange  fire  smouldered  in 
her  eyes. 

"  And  deem  you  I  could  not  take  him  from  you,  if  I  choose?  " 
she  replied,  the  pupils  of  her  eyes  strangely  dilated. 

"  Not  if  I  choose  to  make  him  mine!  "  flashed  Theodora. 

Roxana's  contemptuous  mirth  cut  her  to  the  quick. 

"  You  have  tried  and  failed!  " 

"  I  have  neither  tried  nor  have  I  failed." 

"  Then  you  mean  to  try  again,  fairest  Theodora?  "  came 
the  insidious,  purring  reply. 

"  That  is  as  I  choose !  " 

"  It  shall  be  as  I  choose." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  fairest  Roxana?  " 

"  I  mean  to  conquer  him  —  to  make  him  mine  —  to  steep 
his  senses  in  so  wild  a  delirium  that  he  shall  forget  his  God, 
his  garb,  his  honor.  And,  when  I  have  done  with  him,  I  shall 
send  him  to  the  devil  —  or  to  you,  fairest  Theodora  —  to 
finish,  what  I  began.  This  to  prove  you  a  vain  boaster,  who 
has  failed  to  make  good  every  claim  you  have  put  forth  —  " 

Theodora  was  very  pale.  In  her  voice  there  was  an  unnat 
ural  calm  as  she  turned  to  the  other  woman. 

"  You  have  boasted,  you  will  make  this  austere  pilgrim 
your  own,  body  and  soul  —  you  will  cast  the  tatters  of  his 
soiled  virtue  at  my  feet.  I  did  not  desire  him.  But  now  "  - 
her  eyes  sank  into  those  of  the  other  woman,  "  I  mean  to  have 
him,  —  and  I  shall  —  with  you,  fairest  Roxana,  and  all  your 
power  of  seduction  against  me!  I  shall  have  him  —  and 
when  I  have  done  with  him,  not  even  you  shall  desire  him  — 
nor  that  other,  whom  you  serve  —  " 

Both  women  had  risen  to  their  feet  and  challenged  each 
other  with  their  eyes. 


200   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"By  the  powers  of  darkness,  you  shall  not!"  Roxana 
returned,  pale  to  the  lips. 

"Take  him  from  me  —  if  you  can!"  Theodora  flashed. 
"  I  shall  conquer  you  —  and  him!  " 

At  this  point  the  Grand  Chamberlain  interposed. 

"  Were  it  not  wise,"  he  drawled,  looking  from  the  one  to 
the  other,  "  to  acquaint  this  holy  man  with  the  perils  that 
beset  his  soul,  since  the  two  most  beautiful  and  virtuous 
ladies  hi  Rome  seem  resolved  to  guide  him  on  his  Way  of  the 
Cross?  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  he  continued  in  the 
same  drawl,  which  veiled  emotions  he  dared  not  reveal  in 
this  assembly. 

"  Deem  you,  the  man  who  journeyed  hundreds  of  leagues 
to  obtain  absolution  for  having  kissed  a  woman  in  wedlock 
has  aught  to  fear  from  such  as  you?  " 

Ere  Theodora  could  make  reply  the  tantalizing  purring  voice 
of  Roxana  struck  her  ear. 

"  Surely  this  is  no  man  —  " 

"  A  man  he  is,  nevertheless,"  Basil  retorted  hotly.  "  One 
night  I  wandered  out  upon  the  silent  Aventine.  Losing  my 
self  among  the  ruins,  I  heard  voices  in  the  abode  of  the  Monk 
of  Cluny.  Fearing,  lest  some  one  should  attempt  to  harm 
this  holy  friar,"  he  continued,  with  a  side  glance  at  Theodora, 
"  I  entered  unseen.  I  overheard  his  confession." 

There  was  profound  silence. 

It  seemed  too  monstrously  absurd.     Absolution  for  a  kiss ! 

Roxana  spoke  at  last,  and  her  veiled  mockery  strained  her 
rival's  temper  to  the  breaking  point.  Her  words  stung,  as 
needles  would  the  naked  flesh. 

"  Then,"  she  said  with  deliberate  slowness,  "  if  our  fair 
Theodora  persist  in  her  unholy  desire,  what  else  is  there  for  me 
to  do  but  to  take  him  from  her  just  to  save  the  poor  man's  soul?  " 

Theodora's  white  hands  yearned  for  the  other  woman's 
throat. 


THE    FEAST    OF    THEODORA     201 

"  Deem  you,  your  charms  would  snare  the  good  pilgrim, 
should  I  will  to  make  him  mine?  "  she  flashed. 

"  Why  not?  "  Roxana  purred.  "  Shall  we  try?  Axe  you 
afraid?  "  - 

"  Of  you?  "  Theodora  shrilled. 

A  strange  fire  burnt  in  Rorana's  eyes. 

"  Of  the  ordeal !  Once  upon  a  time  you  took  from  me  the 
boy  I  loved.  Now  I  shall  take  from  you  the  mam  you  desire !  " 

"  I  challenge  you!  " 

"To  the  death!"  Roxana  flashed,  appraising  her  rival's 
charms  against  her  own.  Her  further  utterance  was  checked 
by  the  sudden  entrance  of  one  of  the  A*™**"*,  who  prostrated 
himself  before  Theodora,  muttering  some  incoherent  words 
at  which  both  the  woman  and  Basil  gave  a  start. 

"  Have  him  thrown  into  the  street,"  Basil  turned  to  Theo 
dora. 

"  Have  him  brought  in,"  Theodora  commanded. 

For  the  space  of  a  few  moments  intense  silence  reigned 
throughout  the  pavilion.  Then  the  curtains  at  the  farther  end 
parted,  admitting  two  huge  Africans,  who  carried  between 
them  the  seemingly  lifeless  form  of  a  man- 

An  imperious  gesture  of  Theodora  directed  mem  to  approach 
with  their  burden,  and  a  cry  of  surprise  and  dismay  broke 
from  her  lips  as  she  gazed  into  the  white,  still  features  of 
Tristan. 

He  was  unconscious,  but  faintly  breathing,  and  upon  his 
garb  were  strange  stains,  mat  looked  Eke  blood.  The 
Africans  placed  their  burden  on  the  conch  from  which  P«M<M 
had  arisen,  and  Theodora  summoned  the  Moorish  physician 
Bahrain  from  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  where  he  had  in 
dulged  in  a  learned  dispute  with  a  Persian  sage.  The  other 
guests  thronged  about,  curious  to  see  and  to  hear. 

The  Grand  Chamberlain  changed  color  when  his  gaze  first 
lighted  on  the  prostrate  form  and  he  felt  inclined  to  make 
light  of  the  matter  hinting  at  the  effect  of  Italian  wines  upon 


202    UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

strangers  unaccustomed  to  the  vintage.  The  ashen  pallor  of 
Tristan's  cheeks  had  not  remained  unremarked  by  Theodora, 
as  she  turned  from  the  unconscious  victim  of  a  villainy  to  the 
man  beside  her,  whom  in  some  way  she  connected  with  the 
deed. 

Basil's  comment  elicited  but  a  glance  of  contempt  as, 
approaching  the  couch  whereon  he  lay,  Theodora  eagerly 
watched  the  Moorish  physician  in  his  efforts  to  revive  the 
unconscious  man.  Tristan's  teeth  were  so  tightly  set  that  it 
required  the  insertion  of  a  steel  bar  to  pry  them  apart. 

Bahram  poured  some  strong  wine  down  the  throat  of  the 
still  unconscious  man,  then  placed  him  in  a  sitting  position 
and  continued  his  efforts  until,  with  a  violent  fit  of  coughing, 
Tristan  opened  his  eyes. 

It  was  some  time,  however,  until  he  regained  his  faculties 
sufficiently  to  manifest  his  emotions,  and  the  bewilderment 
with  which  his  gaze  wandered  from  one  face  to  the  other, 
would  have  been  amusing  had  not  the  mystery  which  encom 
passed  his  presence  inspired  a  feeling  of  awe.  The  Moorish 
physician,  upon  being  questioned  by  Theodora,  stated,  some 
powerful  poison  had  caused  the  coma  which  bound  Tristan's 
limbs  and  added,  in  another  hour  he  would  have  been  beyond 
the  pale  of  human  aid.  More  than  this  he  would  not  reveal 
and,  his  task  accomplished,  he  withdrew  among  the  guests. 

From  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  whose  stony  gaze  was 
riveted  upon  him,  Tristan  turned  to  the  woman  who  reclined 
by  his  side  on  the  divan.  His  vocal  chords  seemed  paralyzed, 
but  his  other  faculties  were  keenly  alive  to  the  strangeness  of 
his  surroundings.  Perceiving  his  inability  to  reply  to  her 
questions,  Theodora  soothed  him  to  silence. 

Vainly  endeavoring  to  speak,  Tristan  partook  but  sparingly 
of  the  refreshments  which  she  offered  to  him  with  her  own 
hands.  She  was  now  deliberately  endeavoring  to  enmesh  his 
senses,  and  her  exotic,  wonderful  beauty  could  not  but  accom 
plish  with  him  what  it  had  accomplished  with  all  who  came 


THE   FEAST  OF   THEODORA     203 

under  its  fatal  spell.  An  insidious,  sensuous  perfume  seemed 
to  float  about  her,  which  caused  Tristan's  brain  to  reel.  Her 
bare  arms  and  wonderful  hands  made  him  dizzy.  Her  eyes 
held  his  own  by  their  strange,  subtle  spell.  Unfathomed 
mysteries  seemed  to  lurk  in  their  hidden  depths.  Without 
endeavoring  to  engage  him  in  conversation,  much  as  she 
longed  to  question  him  on  certain  points,  she  tried  to  soothe 
him  by  passing  her  cool  white  hands  over  his  fevered  brow. 
And  all  the  time  she  was  pondering  on  the  nature  of  his 
infliction  and  the  author  thereof,  as  her  gaze  pensively  swept 
the  banquet  hall. 

The  guests  had,  one  by  one,  returned  to  their  seats.  Theo 
dora  also  had  arisen,  after  having  made  Tristan  comfortable 
on  the  couch  assigned  to  him. 

Unseen  the  heavy  folds  of  the  curtain  behind  her  parted, 
A  face  peered  for  a  moment  into  her  own,  that  seemed  to 
possess  no  human  attributes.  Theodora  gave  a  hardly  per 
ceptible  nod  and  the  face  disappeared.  The  Grand  Cham 
berlain  took  his  seat  by  her  side  and  Roxana  flinging  Theo 
dora  a  glittering  challenge  seated  herself  beside  Tristan, 


CHAPTER  X 


THE   CHALICE   OF   OBLIVION 


DELIRIUM  of  the  senses  such 
as  he  had  never  experienced  to 
this  hour  began  to  steal  over 
Tristan,   as   he   found   himself 
seated  between  Theodora,  the 
fairest  sorceress  that  ever  tri 
umphed  over  the  frail  spirit  of 
man  —  and   Roxana,   who   was 
whispering  strange  words  into 
his  bewildered  ears. 
Across  the  board  the  gloomy  form  of  the  Grand  Chamber 
lain  hi  his  sombre  attire  loomed  up  like  a  shadow  of  evil  in  a 
garden  of  strangely  tinted  orchids. 

How  the  time  passed  on,  he  could  not  tell.  Peals  of  laugh 
ter  resounded  now  and  then  through  the  vaulted  dome  and 
voices  were  raised  in  clamorous  disputations  that  just  sheered 
off  the  boundary-line  of  actual  quarrel. 

Theodora  seemed  to  pay  but  little  heed  to  Tristan.  Roxana 
had  coiled  her  white  arms  about  him  and,  whenever  he  raised 
his  goblet,  their  hands  touched  and  a  stream  of  fire  coursed 
through  his  veins.  Only  now  and  then  Theodora's  drowsy 
eyes  shot  forth  a  fiery  gleam  from  under  their  heavily  fringed 
lids. 

Roxana  smiled  into  her  rival's  eyes  and,  raising  a  goblet  of 
wine  to  her  lips,  kissed  the  brim  and  gave  it  to  Tristan  with 
an  indescribably  graceful  swaying  motion  of  her  whole  form 
that  reminded  one  of  a  tall  white  lily,  bowing  to  the  breeze. 


THE   CHALICE   OF   OBLIVION     205 

Tristan  seized  the  cup  eagerly,  drank  from  it  and  returned 
it  and,  as  their  hands  touched  again,  he  could  hardly  restrain 
himself  from  giving  way  to  a  transport  of  passion.  He  was 
no  longer  himself.  His  brain  seemed  to  reel.  He  felt  as  if 
he  would  plunge  into  the  crater  of  a  seething  volcano  without 
heeding  the  flames. 

Even  Hellayne's  pale  image  seemed  forgotten  for  the  time. 

The  guests  waxed  more  and' more  noisy,  their  merriment 
more  and  more  boisterous.  Many  were  now  very  much  the 
worse  for  their  frequent  libations,  and  young  Fabio  particularly 
seemed  to  display  a  desire  to  break  away  from  all  bonds  of 
prudent  reserve. 

He  lay  full  length  on  his  silken  divan,  singing  little  snatches 
of  song  to  himself  and,  pulling  the  vine-wreath  from  his 
tumbled  locks,  as  though  he  found  it  too  cumbersome,  he 
flung  it  on  the  ground  amid  the  other  debris  of  the  feast. 
Then,  folding  his  arms  lazily  behind  his  head,  he  stared 
straight  and  fixedly  at  Theodora,  surveying  every  curve  of 
her  body,  every  slight  motion  of  her  head,  every  faint  smile 
that  played  upon  her  lips.  She  was  listening  with  an  air  of 
ill-disguised  annoyance  to  Basil,  whose  wine-inflamed  coun 
tenance  and  passion-distorted  features  left  little  to  the  sur 
mise  regarding  his  state  of  mind. 

On  the  couch  adjoining  the  one  of  Fabio  of  the  Cavalli 
reclined  a  nobleman  from  Gades,  who,  having  partaken  less 
lavishly  of  the  wine  than  the  rest  of  the  guests,  was  engaged 
in  a  dispute  with  the  burly  stranger  from  the  North,  whose 
temper  seemed  to  have  undergone  little  change  for  the  better 
for  his  having  filled  his  paunch. 

In  the  barbarous  jargon  of  tenth  century  Latin  they  com 
mented  upon  Theodora,  upon  the  banquet,  upon  the  guests 
and  upon  Rome  in  general,  and  the  Spaniard  expressed  sur 
prise  that  Marozia's  sister  had  failed  to  revenge  Marozia's 
death,  contenting  herself  to  spend  her  life  in  the  desert  wastes 
of  Aventine,  among  hermits,  libertines  and  fools. 


206    UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

Notwithstanding  his  besotten  mood  Fabio  had  heard  and 
understood  every  word  the  stranger  uttered.  Before  he,  to 
whom  his  words  was  addressed  could  make  reply,  he  shouted 
insolently : 

"  Ask  Theodora  why  she  is  content  to  live  in  her  enchanted 
groves  instead  in  the  Emperor's  Tomb,  haunted  by  the  spectre 
of  strangled  Marozia! " 

A  terrible  silence  followed  this  utterance.  The  eyes  of  all 
present  wandered  towards  the  speaker.  The  Grand  Cham 
berlain  ground  his  teeth.  Every  vestige  of  color  had  faded 
from  his  face. 

"  Are  you  afraid?  "  shouted  Fabio,  raising  himself  upon  his 
elbows  and  nodding  towards  Theodora. 

The  woman  turned  her  splendid,  flashing  orbs  slowly  upon 
him.  A  chill,  steely  glitter  leaped  from  their  velvety  depths. 

"  Pray,  Fabio,  be  heedful  of  your  speech,"  said  she  with  a 
quiver  in  her  voice,  curiously  like  the  suppressed  snarl  of  a 
tigress.  "  Most  men  are  fools,  like  yourself,  and  by  their 
utterance  shall  they  be  judged !  " 

Fabio  broke  out  into  boisterous  mirth. 

"  And  Theodora  rules  with  a  rod  of  iron.  Even  the  Lord 
Basil  is  but  a  toy  hi  her  hands !  Behold  him,  —  yonder." 

Basil  had  arisen,  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  poniard.  Theo 
dora  laid  her  white  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Nay  —  "  she  said  sweetly,  "  this  is  a  matter  for  myself  to 
settle." 

"  A  very  anchorite,"  the  mocking  voice  of  Fabio  rose  above 
the  silence. 

A  young  noble  of  the  Csetani  tried  to  quiet  him,  but  hi  vain : 

"  The  Lord  Basil  is  no  monk." 

"  Wherefore  then  his  midnight  meditations  in  the  devil's 
own  chapel  yonder,  in  which  our  fair  Theodora  officiates  as 
Priestess  of  Love?  " 

"  Midnight  meditations? "  interposed  the  Spaniard,  not 
knowing  that  he  was  treading  on  dangerous  ground. 


THE   CHALICE   OF   OBLIVION     207 

"  Ask  Theodora,"  shouted  Fabio,  "  how  many  lovers  are 
worshipping  at  her  midnight  shrine !  " 

The  silence  of  utter  consternation  prevailed.  Glances  of 
absolute  dismay  went  round  the  table,  and  the  stillness  was  as 
ominous  as  the  hush  before  a  thunderclap.  Fabio,  apparently 
struck  by  the  sudden  silence,  gazed  lazily  from  out  the  tumbled 
cushions,  a  vacant,  besotten  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"  What  fools  you  are !  "  he  shouted  thickly.  "  Did  you  not 
hear  me?  I  bade  you  ask  Theodora,"  and  suddenly  he  sat 
bolt  upright,  his  face  crimsoning  as  with  an  access  of  passion, 
"  why  the  Lord  Basil  creeps  in  and  out  her  palace  at  midnight 
like  a  skulking  slave?  Ask  him  why  he  creeps  in  disguise 
through  the  underground  passage.  Ay  —  stranger,"  he 
shouted  to  Tristan,  "  you  are  near  enough  to  our  lady  of 
Witcheries.  Ask  her  bow  many  lovers  have  tasted  of  the 
chalice  of  oblivion?  " 

Another  death-like  silence  ensued. 

Even  the  attendants  seemed  to  move  with  awed  tread 
among  the  guests. 

Theodora  and  Roxana  had  risen  almost  at  the  same  time, 
facing  each  other  in  a  white  silence. 

Roxana  extended  her  snow-white  arms  towards  Theodora. 

"  Why  do  you  not  reply  to  your  discarded  lover?  "  she 
taunted  her  rival.  "  Shall  I  reply  for  him?  You  have 
challenged  me,  and  I  return  your  challenge!  I  am  your 
match  in  all  things,  Lady  Theodora.  In  my  veins  flows  the 
blood  of  kings  —  in  yours  the  blood  of  courtesans.  There  is 
not  room  on  earth  for  both  of  us.  Does  not  your  coward  soul 
quail  before  the  issue?  " 

Theodora  turned  to  Roxana  a  face,  white  as  marble,  her 
eyes  preternaturally  brilliant.  "  You  shall  have  your  wish  — • 
even  to  the  death.  But  —  before  the  dark-winged  messenger 
enfolds  you  with  his  sable  wings  you  shall  know  Theodora  as 
you  have  never  known  her  —  nor  ever  shall  again." 

From  the  woman  Theodora  turned  to  the  man. 


208    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Fabio,"  she  said  in  her  sweet  mock-caressing  tone,  "  I 
fear  you  have  grown  altogether  too  wise  for  this  world.  It 
were  a  pity  you  should  linger  in  so  narrow  and  circumscribed 
a  sphere." 

She  paused  and  beckoned  to  a  giant  Nubian  who  stood 
behind  her  chair. 

"Refill  the  goblets!" 

Her  behest  executed  she  clinked  goblets  with  Roxana. 
An  undying  hate  shone  in  the  eyes  of  the  two  women  as  they 
raised  the  crystal  goblets  to  their  lips. 

Theodora  hardly  tasted  of  the  purple  beverage.  Roxana 
eagerly  drained  her  cup,  then  she  kissed  the  brim  and  offered 
the  fragrant  goblet  to  Tristan,  as  her  eyes  challenged  Theodora 
anew. 

Ere  he  could  raise  it  to  his  lips,  Theodora  dashed  the  goblet 
from  Tristan's  hands  and  the  purple  wine  dyed  the  orange 
colored  carpet  like  dark  stains  of  blood. 

White  as  lightning,  her  eyes  ablaze  with  hidden  fires,  her 
white  hands  clenched,  Roxana  straightened  herself  to  her 
full  height,  ready  to  bound  at  Theodora's  throat,  to  avenge 
the  insult  and  to  settle  now  and  here,  woman  to  woman,  the 
question  of  supremacy  between  them,  when  she  reeled  as  if 
struck  by  a  thunderbolt.  Her  hands  went  to  her  heart  and 
without  a  moan  she  fell,  a  lifeless  heap,  upon  the  floor. 

Ere  Tristan  and  the  other  guests  could  recover  from  their 
consternation,  or  fathom  the  import  of  the  terrible  scene,  a 
savage  scream  from  the  couch  upon  which  Fabio  reclined, 
turned  the  attention  of  every  one  in  that  direction. 

Fabio,  suddenly  sobered,  had  risen  from  his  couch  and 
drained  his  goblet.  It  rolled  upon  the  carpet  from  his  nerve 
less  grasp.  For  a  moment  his  arms  wildly  beat  the  air,  then 
he  reeled  and  fell  prone  upon  the  floor.  His  staring  eyes 
and  his  face,  livid  with  purple  spots,  proclaimed  him  dead, 
even  ere  the  Moorish  physician  could  come  to  his  aid. 

Theodora  clapped  her  hands,  and  at  the  signal  four  giant 


THE   CHALICE   OF   OBLIVION     209 

Nubians  appeared  and,  taking  up  the  lifeless  bodies,  disap 
peared  with  them  in  the  moonlit  garden  outside. 

The  Grand  Chamberlain,  rising  from  his  seat,  informed  the 
guests  that  a  sudden  ailment  had  befallen  the  woman  and 
the  man.  They  were  being  removed  to  receive  care  and 
attention. 

Though  a  lingering  doubt  hovered  hi  the  minds  of  those 
who  had  witnessed  the  scene,  some  kept  silent  through  fear, 
others  whose  brains  were  befuddled  by  the  fumes  of  the 
wine  gave  utterance  to  inarticulate  sounds,  from  which  the 
view  they  took  of  the  matter,  was  not  entirely  clear. 

The  shock  had  restored  to  Tristan  the  lost  faculty  of  speech. 
For  a  moment  he  stared  horrified  at  Theodora.  Her  impas 
sive  calm  roused  hi  him  a  feeling  of  madness.  With  an 
imprecation  upon  his  lips  he  rushed  upon  her,  his  gleaming 
dagger  raised  aloft. 

But  ere  he  could  carry  out  his  intent,  Theodora's  clear, 
cold  voice  smote  the  silence. 

"  Disarm  him!" 

One  of  the  Africans  had  glided  stealthily  to  his  side,  and 
the  steel  was  wrenched  from  Tristan's  grip. 

"  Be  silent,  —  for  your  life !  "  some  one  whispered  into  his 
ear. 

Suddenly  he  grew  weak.  Theodora's  languid  eyes  met  his 
own,  utterly  paralyzing  his  efforts.  A  smile  parted  her  lips 
as,  without  a  trace  of  anger,  she  kissed  the  ivory  bud  of  a 
magnolia  and  threw  it  to  him. 

As  one  in  a  trance  be  caught  the  flower.  Its  fragrance 
seemed  to  creep  into  his  brain,  rob  his  manhood  of  its  strength. 
Sinking  submissively  into  his  seat  he  gazed  up  at  her  hi  won 
dering  wistfulness.  Was  there  ever  woman  so  bewilderingly 
beautiful?  A  strange  enervating  ecstasy  took  him  captive,  as 
he  permitted  his  eyes  to  dwell  on  the  fairness  of  her  face,  the 
ivory  pallor  of  her  skin,  the  supple  curves  of  her  form.  As 
one  imprisoned  in  a  jungle  exhaling  poison  miasmas  loses  all 


210    UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

control  over  his  faculties,  feeling  a  drowsy  lassitude  stealing 
over  him,  so  Tristan  gave  himself  up  to  the  spell  that  encom 
passed  him,  heedless  of  the  memories  of  the  past. 

Now  Theodora  touched  a  small  bell  and  suddenly  the 
marble  floor  yawned  asunder  and  the  banquet  table  with  all 
its  accessories  vanished  underground  with  incredible  swift 
ness.  Then  the  floor  closed  again.  The  broad  centre  space 
of  the  hall  was  now  clear  of  obstruction  and  the  guests  roused 
themselves  from  their  drowsy  postures  of  half-inebriated 
languor. 

Tristan  drank  in  the  scene  with  eager,  dazzled  eyes  and 
heavily  beating  heart.  Love  and  hate  strangely  mingled  stole 
over  him  more  strongly  than  ever,  in  the  sultry  air  of  this 
strange  summer  night,  this  night  of  sweet  delirium  hi  which 
all  that  was  most  dangerous  and  erring  in  his  nature  waked 
into  his  life  and  mastered  his  better  will. 

Outside  the  water  lilies  nodded  themselves  to  sleep  among 
their  shrouding  leaves.  Like  a  sheet  of  molten  gold  spread 
the  lake  over  the  spot  where  Roxana  and  Fabio  had  found  a 
common  grave. 

Surrounding  this  lake  spread  a  garden,  golden  with  the 
sleepy  radiance  of  the  late  moon,  and  peacefully  fair  in  the 
dreaminess  of  drooping  foliage,  moss-covered  turf  and  star- 
sprinkled  violet  sky.  In  full  view,  and  lighted  by  the  reflected 
radiance  flung  out  from  within,  a  miniature  waterfall  tumbled 
headlong  into  a  rocky  recess,  covered  and  overgrown  with 
lotus-lilies  and  plumy  ferns.  Here  and  there  golden  tents 
glimmered  through  the  shadows  cast  by  the  great  magnolia 
trees,  whose  half-shut  buds  wafted  balmy  odors  through  the 
drowsy  summer  night.  The  sounds  of  flutes,  of  citherns 
and  cymbals  floated  from  distant  bosquets,  as  though  elfin 
shepherds  were  guarding  their  fairy  flocks  in  some  hidden 
nook.  By  degrees  the  light  grew  warmer  and  more  mellow 
in  tint  till  it  resembled  the  deep  hues  of  an  autumn  sunset, 


THE   CHALICE   OF  OBLIVION     211 

flecked  through  the  emerald  haze,  in  the  sunken  gardens  of 
Theodora. 

Another  clash  of  cymbals,  stormily  persistent,  then  the 
chimes  of  bells,  such  as  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  many  a 
wayfarer,  who  hears  the  silvery  echoes  when  far  away  from 
home  and  straightway  thinks  of  his  childhood  days,  those 
years  of  purest  happiness. 

A  curious,  stifling  sensation  began  to  oppress  Tristan  as 
he  listened  to  those  bells.  They  reminded  him  of  strange 
things,  things  to  which  he  could  not  give  a  name,  odd  sugges 
tions  of  fair  women  who  were  wont  to  pray  for  those  they 
loved,  and  who  believed  that  their  prayers  would  be  heard  in 
heaven  and  would  be  granted ! 

With  straining  eyes  he  gazed  out  into  the  languorous  beauty 
of  the  garden  that  spread  its  emerald  glamour  around  him, 
and  a  sob  broke  from  his  lips  as  the  peals  of  the  chimingbells, 
softened  by  degrees  into  subdued  and  tremulous  semitones, 
the  clarion  clearness  of  the  cymbals  again  smote  the  silent 
air. 

Ere  Tristan,  in  his  state  of  bewilderment,  could  realize 
what  was  happening,  the  great  fire  globe  in  the  dome  was 
suddenly  extinguished  and  a  firm  hand  imperiously  closed  on 
his  own,  drawing  him  along,  he  knew  not  whither. 

He  glanced  about  him.  In  the  semi-darkness  he  was 
able  to  discern  the  sheen  of  the  lake  with  its  white  burden  of 
water  lilies,  and  the  dim,  branch-shadowed  outlines  of  the 
moonlit  garden.  Theodora  walked  beside  him,  Theodora, 
whose  lovely  face  was  so  perilously  near  his  own,  Theodora, 
upon  whose  lips  hovered  a  smile  of  unutterable  meaning. 
His  heart  beat  faster;  he  strove  in  vain  to  imagine  what  fate 
was  hi  store  for  him.  He  drank  in  the  beauty  of  the  night 
that  spread  her  star-embroidered  splendors  about  him,  he 
was  conscious  of  the  vital  youth  and  passion  that  throbbed  in 
his  veins,  endowing  him  with  a  keen  headstrong  rapture 
which  is  said  to  come  but  once  in  a  lifetime,  and  which  in 


212   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

the  excess  of  its  folly  will  bring  endless  remorse  in  its 
wake. 

Suddenly  he  found  himself  in  an  exquisitely  adorned 
pavilion  of  painted  silk,  lighted  by  a  lamp  of  tenderest  rose 
lustre  and  carpeted  with  softest  amber  colored  pile.  It  stood 
apart  from  the  rest,  concealed  as  it  were  in  a  grove  of  its  own, 
and  surrounded  by  a  thicket  of  orange-trees  in  full  bloom. 
The  fragrance  of  the  white  waxen  flowers  hung  heavily  upon 
the  air,  breathing  forth  delicate  suggestions  of  languor  and 
sleep.  The  measured  cadence  of  the  waterfall  alone  broke 
the  deep  stillness,  and  now  and  then  the  subdued  and  plain 
tive  thrill  of  a  nightingale,  soothing  itself  to  sleep  with  its 
own  song  in  some  deep-shadowed  copse. 

Here,  on  a  couch,  such  as  might  have  been  prepared  for 
Titania,  Theodora  seated  herself,  while  Tristan  stood  gazing 
at  her  hi  a  sort  of  mad,  fascinated  wonderment,  and  gradually 
increasing  intensity  of  passion. 

The  alluring  smile  and  the  quick  brightening  of  the  eyes,  so 
rare  a  thing  with  him  who,  since  he  had  left  Avalon,  was  used 
to  wear  so  calm  and  subdued  a  mask,  changed  his  aspect  in 
an  extraordinary  manner.  In  an  instant  he  seemed  more 
alive,  more  intensely  living,  pulsing  with  the  joy  of  the  hour. 
He  felt  as  if  he  must  let  the  natural  youth  in  his  veins  run 
riot,  as  Theodora's  beauty  and  the  magic  of  the  night  began 
to  sting  his  blood. 

Theodora's  eyes  danced  to  his.  She  had  marked  the 
symptoms  and  knew.  Her  eyes  had  lost  their  mocking  glitter 
and  swam  hi  a  soft  languor,  that  was  strangely  bewitching. 
Her  lips  parted  hi  a  faint  sigh  and  a  glance  like  fire  shot  from 
beneath  her  black  silken  lashes. 

"  Tristan!  "  she  murmured  tremulously  and  waited.  Then 
again :  "  Tristan !  " 

He  knelt  before  her,  passion  sweeping  over  him  like  a 
hurricane,  and  took  her  unresisting  hands  in  his. 

"Theodora!"  he  said,  bending  over  her,  and  his  voice, 


THE   CHALICE   OF   OBLIVION     213 

even  to  his  own  ears  had  a  strange  sound,  as  if  some  one  else 
were  speaking.  "  Theodora!  What  would  you  have  of  me? 
Speak!  For  my  heart  aches  with  a  burden  of  dark  memories 
conjured  up  by  the  wizard  spell  of  your  eyes!  " 

She  gently  drew  him  down  beside  her  on  the  couch. 

"Foolish  dreamer!"  she  murmured,  half  mockingly,  hah* 
tenderly.  "  Are  love  and  passion  so  strange  a  thing  that  you 
wonder  —  as  you  sit  here  beside  me?  " 

"  Love!  "  he  said.     "  Is  it  love  indeed?  " 

He  uttered  the  words  as  if  he  spoke  to  himself,  in  a  hushed, 
awe-struck  tone.  But  she  had  heard,  and  a  flash  of  triumph 
brightened  her  beautiful  face. 

"  Ah!  "  and  she  dropped  her  head  lower  and  lower,  till  the 
dark  perfumed  tresses  touched  his  brow.  "  Then  you  do 
love  me?  " 

He  started.  A  dull  pang  struck  his  heart,  a  chill  of  vague 
uncertainty  and  dread.  He  longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms, 
forget  the  past,  the  present,  the  future,  life  and  all  it  held. 
But  suddenly  a  vague  thought  oppressed  him.  There  was 
the  sense  that  he  was  dishonoring  that  other  love.  However 
unholy  it  had  been,  it  was  yet  for  him  a  real  and  passionate 
reality  of  his  past  life,  and  he  shrank  in  shame  from  sup 
pressing  it.  Would  it  not  have  been  far  nobler  to  have  fought 
it  down  as  the  pilgrim  he  had  meant  to  be  than  to  drown  its 
memory  in  a  delirium  of  the  senses? 

And  —  was  this  love  indeed  for  the  woman  by  his  side? 
Was  it  not  mere  passion  and  base  desire? 

As  he  remained  silent  the  silken  voice  of  the  fairest  woman 
he  had  ever  seen  once  more  sent  its  thrill  through  his  bewil 
dered  brain  in  the  fateful  question: 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Tristan?  " 

Softly,  insidiously,  she  entwined  him  with  her  wonderful 
white  arms.  Her  perfumed  breath  fanned  his  cheeks;  her 
dark  tresses  touched  his  brow.  Her  lips  were  thirstily  ajar. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her.     Hungrily,  passionately,  his 


214   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

gaze  wandered  over  her  matchless  form,  from  the  small  feet, 
encased  in  golden  sandals,  to  the  crowning  masses  of  her 
dusky  hair.  His  heart  beat  with  loud,  impatient  thuds,  like 
some  wild  thing  struggling  in  its  cage,  but  though  his  lips 
moved,  no  utterance  came. 

Her  arms  tightened  about  him. 

"  You  are  of  the  North,"  she  said,  "  though  you  have  hotter 
blood  hi  your  veins.  Now  under  our  yellow  sun,  and  in  our 
hot  nights,  when  the  moon  hangs  like  an  alabaster  lamp  in 
the  sky,  a  beaten  shield  of  gold  trembling  over  our  dreams  - 
forget  the  ice  in  your  blood.  Gather  the  roses  while  you 
may!  A  time  will  come  when  their  soft  petals  will  have  lost 
their  fragrance !  I  love  you  —  be  mine ! " 

And,  bending  towards  him,  she  kissed  him  with  moist, 
hungry  lips. 

He  fevered  in  her  embrace.  He  kissed  her  eyes  —  her 
hah-  —  her  lips  —  and  a  strange  dizziness  stole  over  him,  a 
delirium  in  which  he  was  no  longer  master  of  himself. 

"  Can  you  not  be  happy,  Tristan?  "  she  whispered  gently. 
"  Happy  as  other  men  when  loved  as  I  love  you!  " 

With  a  cold  sinking  of  the  heart  he  looked  into  the  woman's 
perfect  face.  His  upturned  gaze  rested  on  the  glittering 
serpent  heads  that  crowned  the  dusky  hair,  and  the  words  of 
Fabio  of  the  Cavalli  knocked  on  the  gates  of  his  memory. 

"  Happy  as  other  men  when  they  love  —  and  are  deceived," 
he  said,  unable  to  free  himself  of  her  entwining  arms. 

"  You  shall  not  be  deceived,"  she  returned  quickly. 
"  You  shall  attain  that  which  your  heart  desires.  Your  dear 
est  hope  shall  be  fulfilled,  —  all  shall  be  yours  —  all  —  if  you 
will  be  mine  —  to-night." 

Tristan  met  her  burning  gaze,  and  as  he  did  so  the  strange 
dread  increased. 

"  What  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain?  "  he  queried.  "  What 
of  Basil,  your  lover?  " 

Her  answer  came  swift  and  fierce,  as  the  hiss  of  a  snake. 


THE   CHALICE  OF  OBLIVION     215 

"  He  shall  die  —  even  as  Roxana  —  even  as  Fabio,  he  who 
boasted  of  my  love !  You  shall  be  lord  of  Rome  —  and  I  — 
your  wife  —  " 

Her  words  leaped  into  his  brain  with  the  swift,  fiery  action 
of  a  burning  drug.  A  red  mist  swam  before  his  eyes. 

"Love!"  he  cried,  as  one  seized  with  sudden  delirium. 
"  What  have  I  to  do  with  love  — •  what  have  you,  Theodora, 
who  make  the  lives  of  men  your  sport,  and  their  torments 
your  mockery?  I  know  no  name  for  the  fever  that  consumes 
me,  when  I  look  upon  you  —  no  name  for  the  ravishment  that 
draws  me  to  you  in  mingled  bliss  and  agony.  I  would  per 
ish,  Theodora.  Kill  me,  and  I  shall  pray  for  you !  But  love 
-  love  —  it  recalls  to  my  soul  a  glory  I  have  lost*  There 
can  be  no  love  between  you  and  me ! " 

He  spoke  wildly,  incoherently,  scarcely  knowing  what  he 
said.  The  woman's  arms  had  fallen  from  him.  He  staggered 
to  his  feet. 

A  low  laugh  broke  from  her  lips,  which  curved  in  an  evil 
smile. 

"  Poor  fool!  "  she  said  in  her  low,  musical  tones,  "  to  cast 
away  that  for  which  hundreds  would  give  their  last  life's 
blood.  Madman!  First  to  desire,  then  to  spurn.  Go! 
And  beware ! " 

She  stood  before  him  in  all  her  white  glory  and  loveliness, 
one  white  arm  stretched  forth,  her  bosom  heaving,  her  eyes 
aflame.  And  Tristan,  seized  with  a  sudden  fear,  fled  from 
the  pavilion,  down  the  moonlit  path  as  if  pursued  by  an  army 
of  demons. 

A  man  stepped  from  a  thicket  of  roses,  directly  into  his 
path.  Heedless  of  everything,  of  every  one,  Tristan  endeav 
ored  to  pass  him,  but  the  other  was  equally  determined  to 
bar  his  way. 

"  So  I  have  found  you  at  last,"  said  the  voice,  and  Tristan, 
starting  as  if  the  ground  had  opened  before  him,  stared  into 
the  face  of  the  stranger  at  Theodora's  board. 


216    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  You  have  found  me,  my  Lord  Roger,"  he  said,  after 
recovering  from  his  first  surprise.  "  Here  I  may  injure  no 
one  —  you,  my  lord,  least  of  all!  Leave  me  in  peace !  " 

The  stranger  gave  a  sardonic  laugh. 

"  That  I  may  perchance,  when  you  have  told  me  the  truth 
—  the  whole  truth !  " 

"  Ask,  my  lord,  and  I  will  answer,"  Tristan  replied. 

"  Where  is  the  Lady  Hellayne?  "  — 

The  questioning  voice  growled  like  far  off  thunder. 

Tristan  recoiled  a  step,  staring  into  the  questioner's  face  as 
if  he  thought  he  had  gone  mad. 

"  The  Lady  Hellayne?  "  he  stammered,  white  to  the  lips 
and  with  a  dull  sinking  of  the  heart.  "  How  am  I  to  know? 
I  have  not  seen  her  since  I  left  Avalon  —  months  ago.  Is 
she  not  with  you?  " 

The  Lord  Laval's  brow  was  dark  as  a  thunder  cloud. 

"  If  she  were  with  me  —  would  I  be  wasting  my  time  asking 
you  concerning  her?  "  he  barked. 

"  Where  is  she,  then?  "  Tristan  gasped. 

"That  you  shall  tell  me  —  or  I  have  forgotten  the  use  of 
this  knife!" 

And  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  a  long  dagger  that  pro 
truded  from  his  belt. 

Tristan's  eyes  met  those  of  the  other. 

"  My  lord,  this  is  unworthy  of  you !  I  have  never  com 
mitted  a  deed  I  dared  not  confess  —  and  I  despise  your  threat 
and  your  accusation  as  would  the  Lady  Hellayne,  were  she 
here." 

Steps  were  heard  approaching  from  the  direction  of  the 
pavilion. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  Rome.  Doubtless  you  are  familiar 
with  its  ways.  Some  one  is  coming.  Where  shall  we 
meet?  " 

Tristan  pondered. 


THE   CHALICE   OF  OBLIVION     217 

"  At  the  Arch  of  the  Seven  Candles.  Every  child  can 
point  the  way.  When  shall  it  be?  " 

"  To-morrow,  —  at  the  second  hour  of  the  night.  And 
take  care  to  speak  the  truth!  " 

Ere  Tristan  could  reply  the  speaker  had  vanished  among 
the  thickets. 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  amazed,  bewildered.  Roger  de 
Laval  in  Rome !  And  Hellayne  —  where  was  she?  She  had 
left  Avalon  —  had  left  her  consort.  Had  she  entered  a  con 
vent?  Hellayne  —  where  was  Hellayne? 

Before  this  dreadful  uncertainty  all  the  events  of  the  night 
vanished  as  if  they  had  never  been. 

For  a  long  time  Tristan  remained  where  Roger  de  Laval 
had  left  him.  The  cool  air  from  the  lake  blew  refreshingly 
on  his  heated  brow.  A  thousand  odors  from  orange  and 
jessamine  floated  caressingly  about  him.  The  night  was 
very  still.  There,  in  the  soft  sky-gloom,  moved  the  majestic 
procession  of  undiscovered  worlds.  There,  low  on  the  hori 
zon,  the  yellow  moon  swooned  languidly  down  in  a  bed  of 
fleecy  clouds.  The  drowsy  chirp  of  a  dreaming  bird  came 
softly  now  and  again  from  branch  shadowed  thickets,  and  the 
lilies  on  the  surface  of  the  lake  nodded  mysteriously  to  each 
other,  as  if  they  were  whispering  a  secret  of  another  world. 

At  last  the  moon  sank  out  of  sight  and  from  afar,  softened 
by  the  distance,  the  chimes  of  convent  bells  from  the  remote 
regions  of  the  Aventine  were  wafted  through  the  flower 
scented  summer  night. 


END  OF  BOOK  THE  SECOND 


BOOK  THE  THIRD 


CHAPTER   I 


WOLFSBANE 

HE  early  summer  dawn  was 
creeping  over  the  silent  Cam- 
pagna  when  Tristan  reached  the 
Inn  of  The  Golden  Shield. 

As  one  dazed  he  had  trav 
ersed  the  deserted,  echoing 
streets  hi  the  mysterious  half- 
light  which  flooded  the  Eternal 
City;  a  light  in  which  every 
thing  was  sharply  defined  yet 
seemed  oddly  spectral  and  ghost-like. 

Deep  down  in  his  heart  two  emotions  were  contending, 
appalling  hi  their  intensity  and  appeal.  One  was  an  agonized 
fear  for  the  woman  he  loved  with  a  love  so  unwavering  that 
his  love  was  actually  himself,  his  whole  being,  the  sacrament 
that  consecreted  his  life  and  ruled  his  destiny. 

She  had  left  Avalon;  she  had  left  him  to  whom  she  had 
plighted  her  troth.  Where  was  she  and  why  was  Roger  de 
Laval  hi  Rome? 

An  icy  fear  gripped  his  heart  at  the  thought;  a  nameless 
dread  and  horror  of  the  terrible  scene  he  had  witnessed  at 
the  midnight  feast  of  Theodora. 

For  a  time  he  was  as  one  obsessed,  hardly  master  of  himself 
and  his  actions.  In  an  age  where  scenes  such  as  those  he 
had  witnessed  were  quickly  forgotten  the  death  of  Roxana 
and  young  Fabio  created  but  little  stir.  Rome,  just  emerging 
from  under  the  dark  cloud  of  Marozia's  regime,  in  the  throes 
of  ever-recurring  convulsions,  without  a  helmsman  to  guide 


222   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

the  tottering  ship  of  state,  received  the  grim  tidings  with  a 
shrug  of  apathy;  and  the  cowed  burghers  discussed  in  awed 
whispers  the  dread  power  of  one  whose  vengeance  none 
dared  to  brave. 

Tristan's  unsophisticated  mind  could  not  so  easily  forget. 
He  had  stood  at  the  brink  of  the  abyss,  he  had  looked  down 
into  the  murky  depths  from  which  there  was  no  escape  once 
the  fumes  bad  conquered  the  senses  and  vanquished  resist 
ance.  With  a  shudder  he  called  to  mind,  how  utterly  and 
completely  he  had  abandoned  himself  to  the  lure  of  the  sor 
ceress,  how  little  short  of  a  miracle  had  saved  him.  She  had 
led  him  on  step  by  step,  and  the  struggle  had  but  begun. 

No  one  was  astir  at  the  inn. 

He  ascended  the  stairs  leading  to  his  chamber.  The  chill 
of  the  night  was  still  lingering  in  the  dusky  passages.  He 
lighted  the  taper  of  a  tiny  lamp  that  burnt  before  an  image  of 
the  Mother  of  Sorrows  in  a  niche. 

Then  he  sank  upon  his  couch.  His  vitality  seemed  to  be 
ebbing  and  bis  mind  clouding  before  the  problems  that  began 
to  crowd  in  upon  him. 

Nothing  since  he  left  Avalon,  nothing  external  or  merely 
human,  had  stirred  him  as  had  his  meeting  with  Theodora. 
It  had  roused  in  him  a  dormant,  embryonic  faculty,  active 
and  vivid.  What  it  called  into  .his  senses  was  not  a  mere 
series  of  pictures.  It  created  a  visual  representation  of  the 
horrified  creature,  roused  from  the  flattering  oblivion  of 
death  to  memory  and  shame  and  dread,  nothing  really  for 
gotten,  nothing  past,  the  old  lie  that  death  ends  all  pitifully 
unmasked. 

He  shuddered  as  he  thought  of  the  consequences  of  sur 
render  from  which  a  silent  voice  out  of  the  far  off  past  had 
saved  him  —  just  in  time. 

His  life  lay  open  before  him  as  a  book,  every  fact  recorded, 
nothing  extenuated. 

A  calm,  relentless  voice  bade  him  search  his  own  life,  if  he 


WOLFSBANE  223 

had  done  aught  amiss.  He  had  never  taken  or  desired  that 
which  was  another's.  Yet  his  years  had  been  a  ceaseless 
perturbation.  There  had  been  endless  and  desperate  clutch- 
ings  at  bliss,  followed  by  the  swift  discovery  that  the  exquisite 
light  had  faded,  leaving  a  chill  gloaming  that  threatened  a 
lonely  night.  And  if  the  day  had  failed  in  its  promise  what 
would  the  night  do? 

^Is  soul  cried  out  for  rest,  for  peace  from  the  enemy; 
peace,  not  this  endless  striving.  He  was  terrified.  In  the 
ignominious  lament  there  was  desertion,  as  if  he  were  too 
small  for  the  fight.  He  was  demanding  happiness,  and  that 
his  own  burden  should  rest  on  another's  shoulders.  How 
silent  was  the  universe  around  him !  He  stood  ha  tremendous, 
eternal  isolation. 

Pale  and  colorless  as  a  moonstone  at  first  the  ghostly  dawn 
had  quickened  to  the  iridescence  of  the  opal,  flaming  into  a 
glory  of  gold  and  purple  in  the  awakening  east. 

And  now  the  wall  in  the  courtyard  was  no  longer  grey.  A 
faint,  clear,  golden  light  was  beginning  to  flow  and  filter  into 
it,  dispelling,  one  by  one,  the  dark  shadows  that  lurked  in 
the  corners.  Somewhere  in  the  distance  the  dreamer  heard 
the  shrill  silver  of  a  lark,  and  a  dull  monotonous  sound,  felt 
rather  than  heard,  suggested  that  sleeping  Rome  was  about 
to  wake. 

And  then  came  the  sun.  A  long  golden  ray  stabbed  the 
mists  and  leaped  into  his  chamber  like  a  living  thing.  The 
little  sanctuary  lamp  before  the  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
glowed  no  more. 

After  a  brief  rest  Tristan  arose,  noting  for  the  first  time 
with  a  degree  of  chagrin  that  his  dagger  had  not  been  restored 
to  him. 

It  was  day  now.  The  sun  was  high  and  hot.  The  streets 
and  thoroughfares  were  thronged.  A  bright,  fierce  light  beat 
down  upon  dome  and  spire  and  pinnacle,  flooding  the  august 
ruins  of  the  Caesars  and  the  thousand  temples  of  the  Holy 


224  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Cross  with  brilliant  radiance  from  the  cloudless  azure  of  the 
heavens.  Over  the  Tiber  white  wisps  of  mist  were  rising. 
Beyond,  the  massive  bulk  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb  was  revealed 
above  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  the  olive  groves  of  Mount 
Janiculum  glistened  silvery  in  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun. 

It  was  only  when,  refreshed  after  a  brief  rest  and  frugal 
refreshments,  Tristan  quitted  the  inn,  taking  the  direction  of 
Castel  San  Angelo,  that  the  incidents  leading  up  to  his  arrival 
at  the  feast  of  Theodora  slowly  filtered  through  his  mind. 

Withal  there  was  a  link  missing  in  the  chain  of  events. 
From  the  time  he  had  left  the  Lateran  in  pursuit  of  the  two 
strangers  everything  seemed  an  utter  blank.  What  myste 
rious  forces  had  been  at  work  conveying  him  to  his  destiny, 
he  could  not  even  fathom  and,  in  a  state  of  perplexity,  such 
as  he  had  rarely  experienced,  he  pursued  his  way,  paying  little 
heed  to  the  life  and  turmoil  that  seethed  around  him. 

Upon  entering  Castel  San  Angelo  he  was  informed  that 
the  Grand  Chamberlain  had  arrived  but  a  few  moments  before 
and  he  immediately  sought  the  presence  of  the  man  whose 
sinister  countenance  held  out  little  promise  of  the  solution  of 
the  mystery. 

In  an  octagon  chamber,  the  small  windows  of  which, 
resembling  port-holes,  looked  out  upon  the  Campagna,  Basil 
was  fretfully  perambulating  as  Tristan  entered. 

After  a  greeting  which  was  frosty  enough  on  both  sides, 
Tristan  briefly  stated  the  matter  which  weighed  upon  his 
mind. 

The  Grand  Chamberlain  watched  him  narrowly,  nodding 
now  and  then  by  way  of  affirmation,  as  Tristan  related  the 
experience  at  the  Lateran,  referring  especially  to  two  myste 
rious  strangers  whom  he  had  followed  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
city,  believing  they  might  offer  some  clue  to  the  outrage  com 
mitted  at  the  Lateran  on  the  previous  night. 

Basil  regarded  the  new  captain  with  a  mixture  of  curiosity 
and  gloom.  Perchance  he  was  as  much  concerned  in  discov- 


WOLFSBANE  225 

ering  what  Tristan  knew  as  the  latter  was  in  finding  a  solution 
of  the  two-fold  mystery.  After  having  questioned  him  on  his 
experience,  without  offering  any  suggestion  that  might  clear 
up  his  visitor's  mind,  Basil  touched  upon  the  precarious  state 
of  the  city  and  its  hidden  dangers. 

Tristan  listened  attentively  to  the  sombre  account,  little 
guessing  its  purpose. 

"  Much  have  I  heard  -of  the  prevailing  lawless  state,"  he 
interposed  at  last,  "  of  dark  deeds  hidden  in  the  silent  bosom 
of  the  night,  of  feud  and  rebellion  against  the  Church  which 
is  powerless  to  defend  herself  for  the  want  of  a  master-hand 
that  would  evoke  order  out  of  chaos." 

The  dark-robed  figure  by  his  side  gave  a  grim  nod. 

"  Men  are  closely  allied  to  beasts,  giving  rein  to  their 
desires  and  appetites  as  the  tigers  and  hyenas.  It  is  only 
fear  that  will  restrain  them,  fear  of  some  despotic  invisible 
force  that  pervades  the  universe,  whose  chiefest  attribute  is 
not  so  much  creative  as  destructive.  It  is  only  through  fear 
you  can  rule  the  filthy  rabble  that  reviles  to-day  its  idol  of 
yesterday." 

There  was  an  undercurrent  of  scorn  in  Basil's  voice  and 
Tristan  saw,  as  it  were,  the  lightning  of  an  angry  or  disdainful 
thought  flashing  through  the  sombre  depths  of  his  eyes. 

"  What  of  the  Lady  Theodora?  "  Tristan  interposed  bluntly. 

Basil  gave  a  nameless  shrug. 

"  She  bends  men's  hearts  to  her  own  desires,  taking  from 
them  their  will  and  soul.  The  hot  passion  of  love  is  to  her  a 
toy,  clasped  and  unclasped  in  the  pink  hollow  of  her  hand." 

And,  as  he  spoke,  Basil  suited  the  gesture  to  the  word, 
closing  his  fingers  in  the  air  and  again  unclosing  them. 

"  As  long  as  she  retains  the  magic  of  her  beauty  so  long 
will  her  sway  over  the  Seven  Hills  endure,"  he  added  after  a 
brief  pause. 

"  What  of  the  woman  who  paid  the  penalty  of  her  daring?  " 
Tristan  ventured  to  inquire. 


226   UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

Basil  regarded  the  questioner  quizzically. 

"  There  have  been  many  disturbances  of  late,"  he  spoke 
after  a  pause.  "  Roxana's  lust  for  Theodora's  power  proved 
her  undoing.  Theodora  will  suffer  no  rival  to  threaten  her 
with  Marozia's  fate." 

"  I  have  heard  it  whispered  she  is  assembling  about  her 
men  who  are  ready  to  go  to  any  extreme,"  Tristan  interposed 
tentatively,  thrown  off  his  guard  by  Basil's  affability  of  man 
ner. 

The  latter  gave  a  start,  but  recovered  himself. 

"  Idle  rumors.  The  Romans  must  have  something  to  talk 
about.  Odo  of  Cluny  is  thundering  his  denunciations  with 
such  fervid  eloquence  that  they  cannot  but  linger  in  the 
rabble's  mind." 

"  The  hermit  of  Mount  Aventine?  "  Tristan  queried. 

"  Even  he!  He  has  a  strange  craze,  a  doctrine  of  the  End 
of  Time,  to  be  accomplished  when  the  cycle  of  the  sseculum 
has  run  its  course.  A  doctrine  he  most  furiously  proclaims 
in  language  seemingly  inspired,  and  which  he  promulgates  to 
farther  his  own  dark  ends." 

"  A  theory  most  dark  and  strange,"  Tristan  replied  with  a 
shudder,  for  he  was  far  from  free  of  the  superstition  of  the 
times. 

Basil  gave  a  shrug.     His  tone  was  lurid. 

"  What  shall  it  matter  to  us,  who  shall  hardly  tread  this 
earth  when  the  fateful  moment  comes?  " 

"If  it  were  true  nevertheless?"  Tristan  replied  medita 
tively. 

A  sombre  fire  burnt  in  the  eyes  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

"Then,  indeed,  should  we  not  pluck  the  flowers  hi  our 
path,  defying  darkness  and  death  and  the  fiery  chariot  of 
the  All-destroyer  that  is  to  sweep  us  to  our  doom?  " 

Tristan  shuddered. 

Some  such  words  he  had  indeed  heard  among  the  pilgrim 
throngs  without  clearly  grasping  their  import.  They  had 


WOLFSBANE  227 

haunted  his  memory  and  had,  for  the  time  at  least,  laid  a 
restraining  hand  upon  his  impulses. 

But  the  mystery  of  the  Monk  of  Cluny  weighed  lightly 
against  the  mystery  of  the  woman  who  held  in  the  hollow  of 
her  hand  the  destinies  of  Rome. 

Basil  seemed  to  read  Tristan's  thoughts. 

Reclining  in  his  chair,  he  eyed  him  narrowly. 

"  You,  too,  but  narrowly  escaped  the  blandishments  of  the 
Sorceress,  blandishments  to  which  many  another  would  have 
succumbed.  I  marvel  at  your  self-restraint,  not  being  bound 
by  any  vow." 

The  speaker  paused  and  waited,  his  eyes  lying  in  ambush 
under  the  dark  straight  brows. 

The  memory  still  oppressed  Tristan  and  the  mood  did  not 
escape  Basil,  who  stored  it  up  for  future  reckoning. 

"  Perchance  I,  too,  might  have  succumbed  to  the  Lady 
Theodora's  beauty,  had  not  something  interposed  at  the  cru 
cial  moment." 

"  The  memory  of  some  earlier  love,  perchance?  "  Basil 
queried  with  a  smile. 

Tristan  gave  a  sigh.  He  thought  of  Hellayne  and  the 
impending  meeting  with  Roger  de  Laval. 

His  questioner  abandoned  the  subject.  Master  in  dis 
simulation  he  had  read  the  truth  on  Tristan's  brow. 

"  Pray  then  to  your  guardian  saint,  if  of  such  a  one  you 
boast,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  "  to  intervene,  should 
temptation  in  its  most  alluring  form  face  you  again,"  he  said 
with  deliberate  slowness.  "  You  witnessed  the  end  of  Fabio 
of  the  Cavalli?  "  - 

Tristan  shuddered. 

"  And  yet  there  was  a  time  when  he  called  all  these  charms 
his  own,  and  his  command  was  obeyed  in  Theodora's  gilded 
halls." 

"  Can  love  so  utterly  vanish?  "  Tristan  queried  with  an 
incredulous  glance  at  the  speaker. 


228   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Basil  gave  a  soundless  laugh. 

"  Love!  "  he  said.  "  Hearts  are  but  pawns  in  Theodora's 
hands.  Her  ambition  is  to  rule,  and  he  who  can  give  to  her 
what  her  heart  desires  is  the  favorite  of  the  hour.  Beware  of 
her!  Once  the  poison  of  her  kisses  rankles  in  your  blood 
nothing  can  save  you  from  your  doom." 

Basil  watched  the  effect  of  his  words  upon  his  listener  and 
for  the  nonce  he  seemed  content.  Tristan  would  take  heed. 

When  Tristan  had  taken  his  leave  a  panel  in  the  wall  opened 
noiselessly  and  II  Gobbo  peered  into  the  chamber. 

Basil  locked  and  bolted  the  door  which  led  into  the  corridor, 
and  the  sinister,  bat-like  form  stepped  out  of  its  dark  frame 
and  approached  the  inmate  of  the  chamber  with  a  fawning 
gesture. 

"  If  your  lordship  will  believe  me,"  he  said  in  a  husky 
undertone,  "  I  am  at  last  on  the  trail." 

"  What  now?  " 

"  I  may  not  tell  your  nobility  as  yet." 

"  Do  you  want  another  bezant,  dog?  " 

"  It  is  not  that,  my  lord." 

"  Then,  who  does  he  consort  with?  " 

"  I  have  tracked  him  as  a  panther  tracks  its  prey  —  he 
consorts  with  no  one." 

"  Then  continue  to  follow  him  and  see  if  he  consorts  with 
any  —  woman." 

"  A  woman?  " 

"  Why  not,  fool?  " 

"  But  had  your  nobility  said  there  was  a  woman  —  " 

"  There  always  is." 

"  Your  nobility  let  him  go  —  and  yet  —  one  word  —  " 

"  I  must  know  more,  before  I  strike.  I  knew  he  would 
come.  There  is  more  to  this  than  we  wot  of.  Theodora  is 
infatuated  with  his  austerity.  He  has  jilted  her  and  she 
smarts  under  the  blow.  She  will  move  heaven  and  earth  to 
bring  him  to  her  feet.  Meanwhile  there  are  weightier  matters 


WOLFSBANE  229 

to  be  considered.  Perchance  I  shall  pay  you  an  early  call  in 
your  noble  abode.  Prepare  fitly  and  bid  the  ghosts  troop 
from  their  haunted  caves.  And  now  be  off!  Your  quarry 
has  the  start!  " 

II  Gobbo  bowed  grotesquely  and  receded  backward  towards 
the  panel  which  closed  soundlessly  behind  him. 

Basil  remained  alone  in  the  octagon  cabinet. 

He  strode  slowly  towards  one  of  the  windows  that  faced  to 
southward  and  gazed  long  and  pensively  out  upon  the  undu 
lating  expanse  of  the  Roman  Campagna. 

"  Three  messengers,  yet  none  has  returned,"  he  muttered 
darkly.  "  Can  it  be  that  I  have  lost  my  clutch  on  destiny?  " 


CHAPTER  II 


UNDER   THE   SAFFRON   SCARF 

NCE  again  the  pale  planets  of 
night  ruled  the  sky,  when  Tris 
tan  emerged  from  his  inn  and 
took  the  direction  of  the  Pala 
tine. 

All  memories  of  his  meeting 
with  the  Lord  Basil  had  faded 
before  the  import  of  the  coming 
hour,  when  he  was  to  stand  face 
to  face  with  him  who  held  hi  his 
band  the  fate  of  two  beings  destined  for  each  other  from  the 
beginning  of  time  and  torn  asunder  by  the  ruthless  hand  of 
Fate. 

There  was  not  a  sound,  save  the  echo  of  his  own  footsteps, 
as  Tristan  wound  his  way  through  the  narrow  streets,  high 
cliffs  of  ancient  houses  on  either  side,  down  which  the  white 
disk  of  the  moon  penetrated  but  a  yard  or  two. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Palatine  Hill,  cutting  into  the  moonlight, 
the  Colosseum  rose  before  him,  gaunt,  vast,  sinister,  a  sil 
houette  of  enormous  blackness,  pierced  as  with  innumerable 
empty  eyes  flooded  by  greenish,  ghostly  moonlight.  Necro 
mancers  and  folk  practising  the  occult  arts  dwelled  in  ancient 
houses  built  with  the  honey-colored  Travertine,  stolen  from 
the  Hill  of  the  Caesars.  It  was  said  that  strange  sounds 
echoed  from  the  arena  at  night;  that  the  voices  of  those  who 
had  died  for  the  faith  in  the  olden  days  could  be  beard 
screaming  in  agony  at  certain  periods  of  the  moon. 

Gigantic  masses  of  gaunt  masonry  rose  around  him  as, 


UNDER  THE   SAFFRON   SCARF    231 

with  fleet  steps, he  traversed  the  deserted  thoroughfares.  In 
the  greenish  moonlight  he  could  discern  the  tumbled  ruins  of 
arches  and  temples  scattered  about  the  dark  waste.  His 
gaze  also  encountered  the  frowning  masonry  of  more  recent 
buildings.  The  castellated  palace  of  one  of  the  Frescobaldi 
had  been  reared  right  across  that  ancient  site,  including  in  its 
massive  bulk  more  than  one  monument  of  imperial  days. 

As  he  approached  the  region  of  the  Arch  of  the  Seven 
Candles,  as  the  Arch  of  Titus  with  its  carving  of  the  Jewish 
Candelabrum  borne  in  triumph  was  then  called,  Tristan 
walked  more  warily. 

The  reputed  dangers  of  the  Campo  Vaccino  knocking  at  the 
gates  of  his  memory,  he  loosened  the  sword  in  his  scabbard. 

He  had,  by  this  time,  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  street,  that 
curves  towards  the  Arch  of  Titus,  which  commands  the  avenue 
of  lone  holm-oaks,  leading  towards  the  Appian  Way. 

Suddenly  a  man  emerged  from  the  shadows.  He  was 
armed  with  sword  and  buckler,  his  body  was  covered  with 
hauberk  of  mail  and  he  wore  the  conical  steel  casque  in  vogue 
since  Norman  arms  served  as  the  military  model. 

Roger  and  Tristan  confronted  each  other,  the  former's  face 
tense,  drawn,  white;  the  latter  with  calm  eyes  in  which  there 
was  the  light  of  a  great  regret.  An  expression  not  easy  to 
read  lay  hi  Laval's  eyes,  eyes  that  scanned  Tristan  from 
under  half-shut  lids. 

"  So  you  have  come?  "  the  stranger  said  brutally,  after  a 
brief  and  painful  pause. 

"  I  have  never  broken  my  word,"  Tristan  replied. 

"  Well  spoken!  I  shall  be  plain  and  brief,  if  you  will  own 
the  truth." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  conceal,  my  lord." 

Roger's  eyes  gleamed  with  yet  livelier  malice. 

"  Where  is  the  Lady  Hellayne?     Where  is  my  wife?  " 

"  As  God  lives,  I  know  not.  Yet  —  I  would  give  my  life, 
to  know." 


232   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"Indeed!  You  may  be  given  that  chance.  You  are  frank 
at  least  —  " 

"  I  may  have  wronged  you  in  heart,  my  lord,  —  but  never 
in  deed  —  "  Tristan  replied. 

"  What  I  have  seen,  I  have  seen,"  the  other  snarled 
viciously.  "  Perchance  this  silent  devotion  accounts  also 
for  many  other  things." 

"  I  do  not  understand,  my  lord." 

"  Soon  after  your  flight  the  Lady  Hellayne  departed,  without 
a  word." 

"  So  you  were  pleased  to  inform  me." 

"  I  was  not  pleased,"  spat  out  Laval.  "  How  do  you 
explain  her  flight?  " 

"  I  do  not  explain,  my  lord.  I  have  not  seen  or  heard 
from  the  Lady  Hellayne  since  I  left  Avalon." 

"  Then  you  still  aver  the  lie?  " 

Tristan  raised  himself  to  his  full  height. 

"  I  am  speaking  truth,  my  lord.  Why,  indeed,  should  she 
have  left  you  without  even  a  word?  " 

Roger  eyed  the  man  before  him  as  a  cat  eyes  a  captured 
bird  at  a  foot's  distance  of  mock  freedom. 

"  Why,  indeed,  save  for  love  of  you?  " 

Tristan  raised  his  hands. 

"  Deep  in  my  heart  and  soul  I  worship  the  Lady  Hellayne," 
he  said.  "  For  me  she  had  but  friendship.  Else  were  I  not 
here!" 

"  A  sainted  pilgrim,"  sneered  the  Count,  "  in  the  Groves 
of  Enchantment.  And  for  such  a  one  she  left  her  liege 
lord." 

His  mocking  laughter  resounded  through  the  ruins. 

"  You  wrong  the  Lady  Hellayne  and  myself.  Of  myself  I 
will  not  speak.  As  concerns  her  —  " 

"  Of  her  you  shall  not  speak!     Save  to  tell  me  her  abode." 

"  Of  her  I  shall  speak,"  Tristan  flashed.  "  You  are 
insulting  your  wife  —  " 


UNDER  THE   SAFFRON   SCARF    233 

"  Take  care  lest  worse  befall  yourself,"  snarled  Laval, 
advancing  towards  the  object  of  his  wrath. 

Tristan's  look  of  contempt  cut  him  to  the  quick. 

"  You  think  to  bully  me  as  you  bully  your  menials,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  I  do  not  fear  you!  " 

"  Why,  then,  did  you  leave  Avalon,  if  it  was  not  fear  that 
drove  you?  "  drawled  Laval,  his  eyes  a  mere  slit  in  the  face, 
drawn  and  white. 

The  utter  baseness  and  conceit  in  the  speaker's  nature 
were  so  plainly  revealed  in  his  utterance  that  Tristan  replied 
contemptuously : 

"  It  was  not  fear  of  you,  my  lord,  but  the  Lady  Hellayne's 
expressed  desire  that  brought  me  to  Rome." 

"  The  Lady  Hellayne's  desire?  Then  it  was  she  who 
feared  for  you?  " 

"  It  was  not  fear  for  my  body,  but  my  soul." 

"  Your  soul?    Why  your  soul?  " 

"  Because  my  love  for  her  was  a  wrong  to  you,  my  lord,  — 
even  though  I  loved  her  but  in  thought."  — 

"  On  that  night  in  the  garden  —  you  embraced  in 
thought?  " 

The  leer  had  deepened  on  the  speaker's  face. 

"  A  resistless  something  impelled  —  " 

"  And  you  a  fair  and  pleasant-featured  youth,  beside 
Roger  de  Laval  —  her  husband.  And  now  you  are  here 
doing  penance  at  the  shrines,  at  the  Lady  Theodora's 
shrine?  " 

"  What  I  am  doing  in  Rome  does  not  concern  you,  my  lord," 
Tristan  interposed  firmly.  "  I  did  not  attend  the  Lady 
Theodora's  feast  of  my  own  choice  —  " 

"  Nor  were  you  in  her  pavilion  of  your  own  choice.  Yet  a 
pinch  more  of  penance  will  set  that  right  also." 

"  I  take  it,  my  lord,  that  I  have  satisfied  your  anxiety," 
Tristan  replied,  as  he  started  to  pass  the  other. 

Laval  caught  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder. 


234  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Not  so  fast,"  he  cried.  "  I  shall  inform  you  when  I 
have  done  with  you  —  " 

Tristan's  face  was  white,  as  he  peered  into  the  mask  of 
cunning  that  leered  from  the  other's  countenance.  Perchance 
he  would  not  have  heeded  the  threat  had  it  not  been  for  his 
anxiety  on  Hellayne's  account.  He  suspected  that  Laval 
knew  more  than  he  cared  to  tell. 

"  For  the  last  time  I  ask,  where  is  the  Lady  Hellayne?  " 

The  Count's  form  rose  towering  above  him,  as  he  threw 
the  words  in  Tristan's  face. 

"  For  the  last  time  I  tell  you,  my  lord,  I  know  not,"  Tristan 
replied,  eye  in  eye.  "  Though  I  would  gladly  give  my  life 
to  know." 

"  Perchance  you  may.  I  have  been  told  the  Lady  Hellayne 
is  here  in  Rome.  Wherefore  is  she  here?  Can  it  be  the 
spirit  that  prompted  the  pilgrimage  to  her  lost  lover?  Will 
you  take  oath,  that  you  have  not  seen  her?  " 

The  speaker's  eyes  blazed  ominously. 

Tristan  raised  his  head. 

"  I  will,  my  lord,  upon  the  Cross!  " 

Roger's  heavy  hand  smote  his  cheek. 

"Liar!"  — 

A  woman  who  at  that  moment  crept  in  the  shadows  of  the 
Arch  of  Titus  saw  Tristan,  sword  in  hand,  defending  himself 
against  a  man  apparently  much  more  powerful  than  himself. 
For  a  moment  or  two  she  gazed,  bewildered,  not  knowing 
what  to  do.  Tristan  at  first  seemed  to  stand  entirely  on  the 
defensive,  but  soon  his  blood  grew  hot  and,  in  answer  to  his 
adversary's  lunge,  he  lunged  again.  But  the  other  held  a 
dagger  in  his  left  hand  and  with  it  easily  parried  the  blade. 
The  next  pass  she  saw  Tristan  reel.  She  could  bear  no 
more  and  rushed  screaming  towards  some  footmen  with 
torches  who  were  standing  outside  a  dark  and  heavily 
shuttered  building. 

Tristan  and  Roger  de  Laval  rushed  at  each  other  with 


UNDER  THE   SAFFRON   SCARF   235 

redoubled  fury.  Both  had  heard  the  cry  and  their  blows 
rang  out  with  echoing  clatter,  filling  the  desolate  spaces  with 
a  sound  not  seldom  heard  there  in  those  days.  It  was  a 
struggle  of  sheer  strength,  in  which  the  odds  were  all  against 
Tristan.  He  began  to  yield  step  by  step.  Soon  a  yet  fiercer 
blow  of  his  antagonist  must  bring  him  down  to  his  knees,  and 
he  fell  back  farther,  as  a  veritable  rain  of  blows  fell  upon  him. 

Four  men  followed  by  a  woman  rushed  to  the  scene. 

"Haste!  Haste!"  she  cried  frantically.  "There  is 
murder  abroad ! " 

She  fancied  she  should  behold  the  younger  man  already 
vanquished  by  his  more  vigorous  enemy.  On  the  contrary, 
he  seemed  to  have  regained  his  strength  and  was  now  pressing 
the  other  with  an  agility  and  vigor  that  outweighed  the 
strength  of  maturity  on  the  part  of  his  adversary. 

All  was  clear  in  the  bright  moonlight,  as  if  the  sun  had  been 
blazing  down  upon  them,  and,  as  the  woman  leaped  forward, 
she  beheld  Tristan's  assailant  gain  some  advantage.  He 
was  pressed  back  along  the  Arch  towards  the  spot  where  she 
stood. 

What  now  followed  she  could  not  see.  It  was  all  the 
work  of  a  moment.  But  the  next  instant  she  saw  the  elder 
man  raise  his  arm  as  if  to  strike  with  his  dagger.  Tristan 
staggered  and  fell,  and  the  other  was  about  to  strike  him 
through  when,  with  a  wild,  frantic  outcry  of  terror,  she  rushed 
between  them,  arresting  the  blow  ere  it  could  fall. 

"Hellayne!" 

A  cry  hi  which  Tristan's  smothered  feelings  broke  through 
every  restraint  winged  itself  from  the  mouth  of  the  fallen 
man. 

"  Tristan!  "  came  the  hysterical  response. 

Roger  had  hurled  his  wife  aside,  his  eyes  flaming  like  live 
coals  under  their  bushy  brows. 

Those  whom  Hellayne  had  summoned  to  Tristan's  aid, 
when  she  first  arrived  on  the  scene  of  the  conflict,  unacquainted 


236  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

with  the  cause  of  the  quarrel  and  doubtful  which  side  to  aid, 
stood  idly  by,  since  with  Tristan's  fall  there  seemed  to  be  no 
farther  demand  for  their  services,  nor  did  Roger's  towering 
stature  invite  interference. 

In  the  heat  of  the  conflict  with  its  attendant  turmoil  none 
of  those  immediately  concerned  had  remarked  a  procession 
approaching  from  the  distance  which  now  emerged  from  the 
shadow  of  the  great  arch  into  the  moonlit  thoroughfare. 

It  was  headed  by  four  giant  Nubians,  carrying  a  litter  on 
silver  poles,  from  between  the  half-shut  silken  curtains  of 
which  peered  the  face  of  a  woman.  In  its  wake  marched  a 
score  of  Ethiopians  in  fantastic  livery,  their  broad,  naked 
scimitars  glistening  ominously  in  the  moonlight. 

The  litter  and  its  escort  arrived  but  just  in  time.  Ere 
Laval's  blade  could  pierce  the  heart  of  his  prostrate  victim, 
Theodora  had  leaped  from  her  litter  and  thrown  her  saffron 
scarf  over  the  prostrate  youth. 

With  all  the  outlines  of  her  beautiful  form  revealed  through 
the  thin  robe  of  spangled  gauze  she  faced  the  irate  aggressor 
and  her  voice  cut  like  steel  as  she  said : 

"  Dare  to  touch  him  beneath  this  scarf!  This  man  is 
mine." 

Laval  drew  back,  but  his  glaring  eyes,  his  parted  lips  and 
his  labored  breath  argued  little  in  favor  of  the  fallen  man, 
even  though  the  blow  was,  for  the  moment,  averted. 

With  foam-flecked  lips  he  turned  to  Theodora. 

"  This  man  is  mine !  His  life  is  forfeit.  Stand  back,  that 
I  may  wipe  this  blot  from  my  escutcheon." 

Theodora  faced  the  speaker  undauntedly. 

Ere  he  could  reply,  a  woman's  voice  shrieked. 

"  Save  him!  Save  him!  He  is  innocent!  He  has  done 
naught  amiss ! " 

Hellayne,  whom  the  Count  had  hurled  against  the  masonry 
of  the  arch,  bruising  her  until  she  was  barely  able  to  support 
herself,  at  this  moment  threw  herself  between  them. 


UNDER  THE   SAFFRON   SCARF    237 

"  Who  is  this  woman? "  Theodora  turned  to  Tristan's 
assailant.  "  Who  is  this  woman?  "  Hellayne's  eyes  silently 
questioned  Tristan. 

Laval's  sardonic  laughter  pealed  through  the  silence. 

"  This  lady  is  my  wife,  the  Countess  Hellayne  de  Laval, 
noble  Theodora,  who  has  followed  her  perjured  lover  to 
Rome,  so  they  may  do  penance  in  company,"  he  replied 
sardonically.  "  His  life  is  forfeit.  His  offence  is  two-fold. 
Within  the  hour  he  swore  he  knew  naught  of  her  abode. 
But  —  since  you  claim  him,  —  by  ties  this  scarf  proclaims  — 
take  him  and  welcome!  I  shall  not  anticipate  the  fate  you 
prepare  for  your  noble  lovers!  " 

The  two  women  faced  each  other  in  frozen  silence,  in  the 
consciousness  of  being  rivals.  Each  knew  instinctively  it 
would  be  a  fight  between  them  to  the  death. 

Theodora  surveyed  Hellayne's  wonderful  beauty,  apprais 
ing  her  charms  against  her  own,  and  Hellayne's  gaze  swept 
the  face  and  form  of  the  Roman. 

Tristan  had  scrambled  to  his  feet, his  face  white  with  shame 
and  rage.  From  Theodora,  in  whose  eyes  he  read  that 
which  caused  him  to  tremble  in  his  inmost  soul,  he  turned  to 
Hellayne. 

"  Oh,  why  have  you  done  this  thing,  Hellayne,  why?  —  oh, 
why?  » 

Roger  de  Laval  laughed  viciously. 

"  It  was  indeed  not  to  be  expected  that  the  Lady  Hellayne 
would  find  her  recalcitrant  lover  in  the  arms  of  the  Lady 
TLecdora." 

With  an  inarticulate  outcry  of  rage  Tristan  was  about  to 
hurl  himself  upon  his  opponent,  had  not  Theodora  placed  a 
restraining  hand  upon  him,  while  her  dark  eyes  challenged 
Hellayne. 

All  the  revulsion  of  his  nature  against  this  man  rose  up  in 
him  and  rent  him.  All  the  love  for  Hellayne,  which  in  these 
days  had  been  floating  on  the  wings  of  longing,  soared  anew. 


238  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

But  his  efforts  at  vindication  in  this  strangest  of  all  predica 
ments  were  put  to  naught  by  the  woman  herself. 

"Hear  me,  Hellayne  —  it  is  not  true!"  he  cried,  and 
paused  with  a  choking  sensation. 

Hellayne  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

Then  her  eyes  swept  Tristan  with  a  look  of  such  incredulous 
misery  that  it  froze  the  words  that  were  about  to  tumble  from 
his  lips. 

With  a  wail  of  anguish  she  turned  and  fled  down  the  moon 
lit  path  like  a  hunted  deer. 

"  Up  and  after  her! "  Laval  shouted  to  the  men  whom 
Hellayne  had  summoned  to  the  scene  and  these,  eager  to 
demonstrate  their  usefulness,  started  in  pursuit,  Roger  lead 
ing,  ere  Tristan  could  even  make  a  move  to  interfere. 

Hellayne  had  fled  into  the  open  portals  of  a  church  at  the 
end  of  the  street.  She  tottered  and  fell.  Crawling  through 
the  semi-darkness  she  gasped  and  leaned  against  a  pillar. 
She  saw  a  small  side  chapel,  where,  before  an  image  of  the 
Virgin,  guttered  a  brace  of  tapers.  But  ere  she  reached  the 
shrine  her  pursuers  were  upon  her.  As,  with  a  shriek  of 
mortal  fear  she  fell,  she  gazed  into  the  brutal  features  of 
Roger  de  Laval.  His  lips  were  foam-flecked,  revealing  his 
wolfish  teeth. 

It  was  then  her  strength  forsook  her.  She  fell  fainting 
upon  the  hard  stone  floor  of  the  church.  — 

For  a  pace  Tristan  and  Theodora  faced  each  other  in  silence. 

It  was  the  woman  who  spoke. 

Her  voice  was  cold  as  steel. 

"  I  have  saved  your  life,  Tristan!  The  weapon  which  my 
slaves  have  taken  from  you  awaits  the  call  of  its  rightful 
claimant." 

She  reentered  her  litter  while  Tristan  stood  by,  utterly 
dazed.  But,  when  the  slaves  raised  the  silver  poles,  she  gave 
him  a  parting  glance  from  within  the  curtains  that  seemed  to 
electrify  his  whole  being. 


UNDER  THE  SAFFRON  SCARF    239 

After  the  litter-bearers  and  their  retinue  had  trooped  off, 
Tristan  remained  for  a  time  in  the  shadow  of  the  Arch  of  the 
Seven  Candles. 

He  knew  not  where  to  turn  in  his  misery,  nor  what  to  do. 

In  the  same  hour  he  had  found  and  lost  his  love  anew. 


CHAPTER  III 


DARK   PLOTTINGS 

T  was  past  the  hour  of  midnight. 
In  a  dimly  lighted  turret 
chamber  in  the  house  of 
Hormazd  the  Persian  there  sat 
two  personages  whose  very 
presence  seemed  to  enhance 
the  sinister  gloom  that  brooded 
over  the  circular  vault. 

The  countenance  of  the  Grand 
Chamberlain  was  paler  than 
usual  and  there  was  a  slight  gathering  of  the  eyebrows,  not  to 
say  a  frown,  which  in  an  ordinary  mortal  might  have  signified 
little,  but  hi  one  who  had  so  habitual  a  command  of  his 
emotions,  would  indicate  to  those  who  knew  him  well  an 
unusual  degree  of  restlessness.  His  voice  was  calm  however, 
and  now  and  then  a  bland  smile  belied  the  shadows  on  his 
brow. 

At  times  his  gaze  stole  towards  a  dimly  lighted  alcove 
wherein  moved  a  dark  cowled  figure,  its  grotesque  shadow 
reflected  hi  distorted  outlines  upon  the  floor. 

"  The  Moor  tarries  over  long,"  Basil  spoke  at  last. 
"  So  do  the  ends  of  destiny,"  replied  a  voice  that  seemed 
to  come  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

"  He  is  fleeter  than  a  deer  and  more  ferocious  than  a 
tiger,"  the  Grand  Chamberlain  interposed.  "  Nothing  has 
ever  daunted  him,  nor  lives  the  man  who  would  thwart  him 
and  live.  Can  you  tell  me  where  he  is  now?  " 


DARK  PLOTTINGS  241 

"  Patience !  "  came  the  sepulchral  reply.  "  The  magic  disk 
reveals  all  things!  Anon  you  shall  know." 

Informed  by  daily  gossip  and  the  reports  of  his  innumerable 
spies,  Basil  was  aware  of  a  growing  belief  among  the  people 
that  the  power  he  wielded  was  not  altogether  human,  and  he 
would  have  viewed  it  with  satisfaction  even  had  he  not  shared 
it.  Seeing  hi  it  an  additional  force  helpful  to  the  realization 
of  his  ambition,  he  had  thrown  himself  blindly  into  the  vortex 
of  black  magic  which  was  to  give  to  him  that  which  bis  soul 
desired. 

In  this  chamber,  filled  with  strange  narcotic  scents  and  the 
mysterious  rustling  of  unseen  presences,  by  which  he  believed 
ittobepeopled,  with  the  aid  of  one  who  seemed  the  personified 
Principle  of  Evil,  Basil  assembled  about  him  the  forces  that 
would  ultimately  launch  him  at  the  goal  of  his  ambition. 

This  devil's  kitchen  was  the  portal  to  the  Unseen,  the  shrine 
of  the  Unknown,  the  observatory  of  the  Past  and  the  Future, 
and  the  laboratory  of  the  Forbidden.  There  were  dim  and 
mysterious  mirrors,  before  which  stood  brazen  tripods  whose 
fumes,  as  they  wreathed  upward,  gleamed  with  dusky  fires. 
It  was  in  these  mirrors  that  the  wizard  could  summon  the 
dead  and  the  distant  to  appear  darkly,  in  scarcely  definable 
glimpses.  But  he  could  also  produce  apparitions  more  vivid, 
more  startling  and  more  beautiful.  Once,  in  the  dark  depths 
of  the  chamber,  Basil  had  seen  a  woman's  phantom  apparition 
suddenly  become  strangely  luminous,  her  garments  glowing 
like  flames  of  many  colors,  that  shifted  and  blent  and  alter 
nated  in  ceaseless  dance  and  play,  waving  and  trembling  hi 
unearthly  glory,  till  she  seemed  to  be  of  the  very  flame  her 
self.  The  reflection  of  the  world  of  shadows  was  upon  her; 
its  splendors  were  wrapping  her  round  like  a  mantle.  He 
watched  her  with  bated  breath,  not  daring  to  speak.  And 
brighter,  ever  brighter,  dazzling,  ever  more  dazzling,  had 
grown  the  flaming  phantom,  till  the  wondrous  transfiguration 
reached  the  height  of  its  beauty  and  its  terror.  Then  the 


242   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

phantom  of  murdered  Marozia,  evoked  at  his  expressed 
desire  from  the  land  of  shadows,  had  faded,  dying  slowly 
away  in  the  mysterious  depths  of  the  mirror,  as  the  fires  that 
produced  it  sank  and  died  in  white  ashes. 

There  could  be  no  doubt.  It  was  the  emissary  of  Darkness 
himself  who  held  forth  in  this  dim,  demon-haunted  chamber 
where  he  had  so  often  listened  to  the  record  of  his  awful 
visions.  He  had  made  him  see  in  his  dreadful  ravings  the 
great  vaults  of  wrath,  where  dwelt  the  dread  power  of  Evil. 
He  had  made  him  see  the  King  of  the  Hopeless  Throngs  on 
his  black  basaltic  throne  in  the  terrific  glare-illumined  caves, 
where  Michael  had  cast  him  and  where  Pain's  roar  rises 
eternally  night  and  day.  He  had  made  him  see  the  great 
Lord  of  the  Doomed  Shadows,  receiving  the  homage  of  those 
dreadful  slaves,  those  terror-spreading  angels  of  woe  whose 
hand  flings  destruction  over  the  earth  and  sea  and  air,  while 
flames  were  fawning  and  licking  his  feet  with  countless 
tongues. 

And  then  he  had  shown  to  him  a  spirit  mightier  and  more 
subtle  than  any  of  those  great  wild  destroyers  who  rush 
blindly  through  nature,  a  spirit  who  starts  in  silence  on  her 
errand,  whom  none  behold  as,  creeping  through  the  gloom, 
she  undermines,  unties  and  loosens  all  the  pillars  of  creation, 
with  no  more  sign  nor  sound  than  a  black  snake  in  the  tangled 
grass,  till  with  a  thunder  that  stuns  the  world  the  house  of 
God  comes  crashing  down  —  dread  Hekate  herself. 

Was  there  any  crime  he  had  left  undone? 

His  subterranean  prisons  in  which  limbs  unlearned  to  bend 
and  eyes  to  see  concealed  things  whose  screams  would  make 
the  flesh  of  a  ghost  creep,  if  flesh  one  had. 

But  now  there  was  a  darker  light  in  Basil's  eyes,  a  some 
thing  more  ominous  of  evil  in  his  manner.  The  wizard's 
revelation  had  possessed  his  soul  and  his  whole  terrible  being 
seemed  intensified.  With  the  patience  of  one  conscious  of 
a  superhuman  destiny  he  waited  the  summons  that  was  to 


DARK  PLOTTINGS  243 

come  to  him,  even  though  his  soul  was  consumed  by  devour 
ing  flames. 

For  he  had  come  yet  upon  another  matter;  an  inner  voice, 
whose  appeal  he  dared  not  ignore,  had  informed  him  long 
ago  of  his  waning  power  with  Theodora.  From  the  man 
wont  to  command  he  had  fallen  to  the  level  of  the  whimpering 
slave,  content  to  pick  up  such  morsels  as  the  woman  saw  fit 
to  throw  at  his  feet.  Only  on  the  morning  of  this  day,  which 
had  gone  down  the  never  returning  tide  of  time,  a  terrible 
scene  had  passed  between  them.  And  he  knew  he  had  lost. 

Basil  had  been  an  unseen  witness  of  Theodora's  and  Tris 
tan's  meeting  in  the  sunken  gardens  on  the  Aventine.  Every 
moment  he  had  hoped  to  see  the  man  succumb  to  charms 
which  no  mortal  had  yet  withstood  upon  whom  she  had 
chosen  to  exert  them,  and  on  the  point  of  his  poniard  sat 
Death,  ready  to  step  in  and  finish  the  game.  From  the  fate 
he  had  decreed  him  some  unknown  power  had  saved  Tristan. 
But  Basil,  knowing  that  Theodora,  once  she  was  jilted  by 
the  object  of  her  desire,  would  leave  nothing  undone  to 
conquer  and  subdue,  was  resolved  to  remove  from  his  path 
one  who  must,  sooner  or  later,  become  a  successful  rival. 
By  some  miraculous  interposition  of  Providence  Tristan  had 
escaped  the  fate  he  had  prepared  for  him  on  the  night  when 
he  had  tracked  the  two  strangers  from  the  Lateran.  He  had 
had  him  conveyed  for  dead  to  the  porch  of  Theodora's  palace. 
But  Fate  had  made  him  her  mock. 

Never  had  Basil  met  Theodora  in  a  mood  so  fierce  and 
destructive  as  on  the  morning  after  she  had  destroyed  Roxana 
and  her  lover,  and  had,  in  turn,  been  jilted  by  Tristan.  And, 
verily,  Basil  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  inopportune  time 
to  press  his  suit  or  to  voice  his  resentment  and  disapprobation. 
Theodora  had  driven  every  one  from  her  presence  and  the 
unwelcome  suitor  shared  the  fate  of  her  menials.  Her  dark 
hints  had  driven  the  former  favorite  to  madness,  for  his 
passion-inflamed  brain  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  the 


244   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

love  he  craved,  the  body  he  had  possessed,  should  be  another's, 
while  he  was  drifting  into  the  silent  ranks  of  the  discarded. 
He  knew  for  a  surety  that  Theodora  was  not  confiding  in  him 
as  of  old.  Had  she  somehow  guessed  the  dread  mystery  of 
the  crypts  in  the  Emperor's  Tomb,  or  had  some  demon  of 
Hell  whispered  it  into  her  ear  during  the  dark  watches  of  the 
night? 

A  flash  of  lightning  followed  by  a  terrific  peal  of  thunder 
roused  him  from  bis  reveries.  The  storm  which  had  threat 
ened  during  the  early  hours  of  the  evening  now  roared  and 
shrieked  round  the  tower  and  the  very  elements  seemed  in 
accord  with  the  dark  plottings  in  Hormazd's  chamber. 

"  How  much  longer  must  I  wait  ere  the  fiends  will  reveal  their 
secrets?"  Basil  at  last  turned  to  the  exponent  of  the  black  arts. 

The  wizard  paused  before  the  questioner. 

"  To  what  investigation  shall  we  first  proceed?  " 

"  You  must  already  have  divined  my  thoughts." 

"  I  knew  the  instant  you  arrived.  But  there  is  an  incom 
pleteness  which  makes  my  perceptions  less  exact  than  usual." 

"  Where  are  my  messengers?  To  the  number  of  three 
have  I  sped.  None  has  returned." 

The  Oriental  touched  a  knob  and  the  lamps  were  suddenly 
extinguished,  leaving  the  room  illumined  by  the  red  glow 
of  the  oven.  Then  he  bade  his  visitor  fix  his  eyes  on  the 
surface  of  the  disk. 

"  Upon  this  you  will  presently  behold  two  scenes." 

He  poured  a  few  drops  of  something  resembling  black  oil 
upon  the  disk,  which  at  once  spread  in  a  mirror-like  surface. 
Then  he  began  to  mutter  some  words  in  an  Oriental  tongue, 
and  lighted  a  few  grains  of  a  chemical  preparation  which 
emitted  an  odor  of  bitter  aloe.  This,  when  the  flames  had 
subsided,  he  threw  upon  the  oil  which  at  the  contact  became 
iridescent. 

Basil  looked  and  waited  in  vain. 

The  conjurer  exhausted  all  the  selections  which  he  thought 


DARK  PLOTTINGS  245 

appropriate.  The  oil  gradually  lost  the  changing  aspect  it  had 
acquired  from  the  burning  substance,  and  returned  to  its  dull 
murky  tints,  and  the  interest  which  had  appeared  on  Basil's 
features  gave  place  to  a  contemptuous  sneer. 

"  Are  you,  after  all,  but  a  trickster  who  would  impose  his 
art  upon  the  unwary?  " 

The  magician  did  not  reply  to  this  insult,  nor  did  it  seem  to 
affect  him  visibly. 

"  We  must  try  a  mightier  spell,"  he  said,  "  for  hostile 
forces  are  in  conjunction  against  us." 

By  a  small  tongs  he  raised  from  the  fire  the  metallic  plate 
that  had  been  lying  upon  it.  Its  surface  presented  the  appear 
ance  of  oxidized  silver  with  a  deep  glow  of  heat. 

Upon  this  he  claimed  to  be  able  to  produce  the  picture  of 
past  or  future  events,  and  many  scenes  had  been  reflected 
upon  the  magic  shield. 

He  now  poured  upon  it  a  spoonful  of  liquid  which  spread 
simmering  and  became  quickly  dissipated  in  light  vapors. 
Then  he  busied  himself  with  scattering  over  the  plate  some 
grains  that  looked  like  salt  which  the  heated  metal  instantly 
consumed. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  moments  he  experienced  what  resembled 
an  electric  or  magnetic  shock.  His  frame  quivered,  his  lips 
ceased  to  repeat  the  muttered  incantations,  his  hand  firmly 
grasped  the  tongs  by  which  he  raised  the  metal  aloft,  now 
made  brighter  by  the  drugs  just  consumed,  and  upon  which 
appeared  a  white  spot,  which  enlarged  till  it  filled  the  lower 
half  of  the  plate. 

What  it  represented  it  was  difficult  to  say.  It  might  have 
been  a  sheet  or  a  snow  drift.  Basil  felt  an  indefinable  dread, 
as  above  it  shimmered  forth  the  vague  resemblance  of  a  man 
on  horseback,  apparently  riding  at  breakneck  speed. 

Slowly  his  contour  became  more  distinct.  Now  the  horse 
man  appeared  to  have  reached  a  ford.  Spurring  his  steed,  he 
plunged  into  the  stream  whose  waters  seemed  for  a  tune  to 


246   UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

carry  horse  and  rider  along  with  the  swift  current.  But  he 
gained  the  opposite  shore,  and  the  apparition  faded  slowly 
from  sight. 

"  It  is  the  Moor!  "  cried  Basil  in  a  paroxysm  of  excitement. 
"  He  has  forded  the  rapids  of  the  Garigliano.  Now  be  kind 
to  me  O  Fate  —  let  this  thing  come  to  pass !  " 

He  gave  a  gasp  of  relief,  wiping  the  beads  from  his  brow. 

The  cowled  figure  now  walked  up  to  the  central  brazier, 
muttering  words  in  a  language  his  visitor  could  not  under 
stand.  Then  he  bade  Basil  walk  round  and  round  it,  fixing 
his  eyes  steadily  upon  the  small  blue  flame  which  danced  on 
the  surface  of  the  burning  charcoal. 

When  giddiness  prevented  his  continuing  his  perambu 
lation  he  made  him  kneel  beside  the  brazier  with  his  eyes 
riveted  upon  it. 

Its  fumes  enveloped  him  and  dulled  his  brain. 

The  wizard  crooned  a  slow,  monotonous  chant.  Basil  felt 
his  senses  keep  pace  with  it,  and  presently  he  felt  himself 
going  round  and  round  in  an  interminable  descent.  The 
glare  of  the  brazier  shrank  and  diminished,  invaded  from 
outside  by  an  overpowering  blackness.  Slowly  it  became 
but  a  single  point  of  fire,  a  dark  star,  which  at  length  flamed 
into  a  torch.  Beside  him,  with  white  and  leering  face,  stood 
the  dark  cowled  figure,  and  below  him  there  seemed  to  stretch 
intricate  galleries,  strangled,  interminable  caves. 

"Where  am  I?"  shrieked  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  over 
powered  by  the  fumes  and  the  fear  that  was  upon  him. 

"  Unless  you  reach  the  pit,"  came  the  dark  reply,  "  fare 
well  forever  to  your  schemes.  You  will  never  see  a  crown 
upon  your  head." 

"  What  of  Theodora? "  Basil  turned  to  his  companion, 
choking  and  blinded. 

"  If  the  bat- winged  fiends  will  carry  you  safely  across  the 
abyss  you  shall  see,"  came  the  reply. 


DARK  PLOTTINGS  247 

A  rush  as  of  wings  resounded  through  the  room,  as  of 
monstrous  bats. 

"  Gehenna's  flame  shall  smoothe  her  brow,"  the  wizard 
spoke  again.  "When  Death  brings  her  here,  she  shall  stand 
upon  the  highest  steps,  in  her  dark  magnificence  she  shall 
command  —  a  shadow  among  shadows.  Are  you  content?  " 

There  was  a  pause. 

The  storm  howled  with  redoubled  fury,  flinging  great  hail 
stones  against  the  time-worn  masonry  of  the  wizard's  tower. 

"  Then,"  Basil  spoke  at  last,  his  hands  gripping  his  throat 
with  a  choking  sensation,  "  give  me  back  the  love  for  which 
my  soul  thirsts  and  wither  the  bones  of  him  who  dares  to 
aspire  to  Theodora's  hand." 

The  wizard  regarded  him  with  an  inscrutable  glance. 

"  The  dark  and  silent  angels,  once  divine,  now  lost,  who 
do  my  errands,  shall  ever  circle  round  your  path.  Ever 
lasting  ties  bind  us,  the  one  to  the  other.  Keep  but  the  pact 
and  that  which  seems  but  a  wild  dream  shall  be  fulfilled  anon. 
They  shall  guide  you  through  the  dark  galleries  of  fear,  till 
you  reach  the  goal." 

"  Your  words  are  dark  as  the  decrees  of  Fate,"  Basil 
replied,  as  the  fumes  of  the  brazier  slowly  cleared  in  his 
brain  and  he  seemed  to  emerge  once  more  from  the  endless 
caverns  of  night,  staring  about  him  with  dazed  senses. 

"  You  heed  but  what  your  passion  prompts,"  the  cowled 
figure  interposed  sternly,  "  oblivious  of  that  greater  destiny 
that  awaits  you!  It  is  a  perilous  love  born  in  the  depths  of 
Hell.  Will  you  wreck  your  life  for  that  which,  at  best,  is  but' 
a  fleeting  passion  —  a  one  day's  dream?  " 

"  Well  may  you  counsel  who  have  never  known  the  hell  of 
love!"  Basil  cried  fiercely.  "The  fiery  torrent  that  rushes 
through  my  veins  defies  cold  reason." 

The  cowled  figure  nodded. 

"  Many  a  ruler  in  whose  shadow  men  have  cowered,  has 


248   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

obeyed  a  woman's  whim  and  tamely  borne  her  yoke.  Are 
you  of  those,  my  lord?  " 

"  I  have  set  my  soul  upon  this  thing  and  Fate  shall  give  to 
me  that  which  I  crave!  "  Basil  cried  fiercely. 

The  wizard  nodded. 

"  Fate  cannot  long  delay  the  last  great  throw." 

"  What  would  you  counsel? "  the  Grand  Chamberlain 
queried  eagerly,  peering  into  the  cowled  and  muffled  face, 
from  which  two  eyes  sent  their  insane  gleam  into  his  own. 

"  Send  her  soul  into  the  dark  caverns  of  fear  —  surround 
her  with  unceasing  dread  —  let  the  ghosts  of  those  you  have 
sent  butchered  to  their  doom  surround  her  nightly  pillow, 
whispering  strange  tales  into  her  ears,  —  then,  when  fear 
grips  the  maddened  brain  and  there  seems  no  rescue  but  the 
grave  —  then  peals  the  hour." 

Basil  gazed  thoughtfully  into  the  wizard's  cowled  face. 

"  When  may  that  be?  " 

"  I  will  gaze  into  the  silent  pools  of  my  forbidden  knowledge 
with  the  dark  spirits  that  keep  me  company.  I  have  myste 
rious  rules  for  finding  day  and  hour." 

"  I  cannot  expel  the  passion  that  rankles  in  my  blood," 
Basil  interposed  darkly.  "  But  I  will  tear  out  my  heart 
strings  ere  I  shirk  the  call.  An  emperor's  crown  were  worth 
a  tenfold  price,  and  ere  I,  too,  descend  to  the  dread  shadows, 
I  mean  to  see  it  won." 

"  These  thoughts  are  idle,"  said  the  wizard.  "  Only  the 
weak  plumb  the  depths  of  their  own  soul.  The  strong  man's 
bark  sails  lightly  on  victorious  tides.  Your  soul  is  pledged 
to  the  Powers  of  Darkness." 

"  And  by  the  fiends  that  sit  at  Hell's  dark  gate,  I  mean  to 
do  their  bidding,"  Basil  replied  fiercely.  "  Else  were  I 
indeed  the  mock  of  destiny.  Tell  me  but  this  —  how  did 
you  obtain  a  knowledge  at  which  the  fiend  himself  would 
pale?  " 

The  wizard  regarded  him  for  a  moment  in  silence. 


DARK  PLOTTINGS  249 

"  You  who  have  peered  behind  the  curtain  that  screens 
the  dreadful  boundaries  —  you  who  have  seen  the  pale 
phantom  of  Marozia,  whom  you  have  sent  to  her  doom,  — 
how  dare  you  ask?  " 

Basil  had  raised  both  hands  as  if  to  ward  off  an  evil  spirit. 

"This,  too,  then  is  known  to  you?  Tell  me!  Was  what 
I  saw  a  dream?  " 

"  What  you  have  seen  —  you  have  seen,"  the  cowled  form 
replied  enigmatically.  "  The  cocks  are  crowing  —  and  the 
pale  dawn  glimmers  in  the  East." 

Throwing  his  mantle  about  him,  Basil  left  the  turret  cham 
ber  and,  after  creeping  down  a  narrow  winding  stair,  he  made 
for  his  villa  on  the  Pincian  Hill. 


CHAPTER  IV 


FACE   TO   FACE 

OGER  DE  LAVAL  had  chosen 
for  his  abode  in  Rome  a  sombre 
and  frowning  building  not  far 
from  the  grim  ways  of  the  Campo 
Marzo,  half  palace  half  fortalice, 
constructed  about  a  huge  square 
tower  with  massive  doors.  Like 
all  palace  fortresses  of  the  time 
which  might  at  any  moment  have 
to  stand  a  siege,  either  at  the 
hands  of  a  city  mob  or  at  those  of  some  rapacious  noble,  it 
contained  in  its  vaulted  halls  and  tower  chambers  all  the 
requisites  for  protracted  resistance  as  well  as  aggression.  On 
the  walls  between  flaunting  banners  hung  the  many  quartered 
shields  and  the  dark  coats  of  chain,  the  tabards  of  the  heralds 
and  the  leathern  jerkins  of  the  bowmen.  On  the  shelves 
between  the  arches  stood  long  rows  of  hauberks  and  shining 
steel  caps.  Dark  tapestries  covered  the  walls  and  the  bright 
light  of  the  Roman  day  fell  muted  through  the  narrow  slits  in 
the  sombre  masonry  which  served  as  windows. 

It  was  not  to  seek  his  wife  that  Roger  had  come  to  Rome, 
and  his  meeting  with  Tristan  in  the  gardens  of  Theodora  had 
been  purely  accidental.  While  his  vanity  and  selfishness  had 
received  a  severe  shock  in  Hellayne's  departure,  without  even 
a  farewell,  he  had  not  allowed  an  incident  in  itself  so  trifling 
to  disturb  the  even  tenor  of  his  ways.  He  had  loved  to  dis 
play  her  at  his  feasts  as  one  displays  some  exceeding  hand 
some  plaything  that  gives  pleasure  to  the  senses;  otherwise 


FACE  TO  FACE  251 

he  and  the  countess  had  no  common  bond  of  interest.  Hel- 
layne  was  the  only  child  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  barons  of 
Provence,  and  had  been  given  in  marriage  to  the  older  man 
before  she  even  realized  what  the  bonds  implied.  Only  after 
meeting  Tristan  had  the  awakening  come,  and  youth  sought 
youth. 

That  which  brought  every  one  to  Rome  in  an  age  when  Rome 
was  still  by  common  consent  the  centre  of  the  universe,  such 
as  the  Saxon  Chronicles  of  the  Millennium  pronounce  it,  had 
also  caused  Roger  de  Laval  to  seek  the  Holy  Shrines,  not  in 
quest  of  spiritual  benefit,  but  of  temporal  aggrandizement, 
in  the  character  of  an  investiture  from  the  Vicar  of  Christ 
himself.  His  disappointment  at  finding  the  head  of  Christ 
endom  a  prisoner  hi  his  own  palace  was  perhaps  only  mitigated 
by  the  disclosure  that  he  should  have  to  rely  upon  his  own 
fertility  of  mind  for  the  realization  of  a  long-fostered  ambition. 

On  one  of  his  visits  to  the  Lateran,  hoping  to  obtain  an 
interview  with  the  Pontiff,  he  had  met  Basil  as  representative 
of  the  Roman  government,  in  the  absence  of  Alberic,  and  a 
sinister  attraction  had  sprung  up  between  them  in  the  con 
sciousness  that  each  had  something  to  give  the  other  lacked. 
This  bond  was  even  strengthened  by  Basil's  promise  to  aid 
the  stranger  in  the  attainment  of  his  desires,  and  at  last 
Roger  had  confided  in  Basil  the  story  of  the  shadow  that  had 
spread  its  gloomy  pinions  over  the  castle  of  Avalon.  Basil 
had  listened  and  suggested  that  the  Lord  Laval  drown  his 
sorrows  at  the  board  of  Theodora.  Therein  the  latter  had 
acquiesced,  with  the  result  that  he  met  Tristan  on  that  night. 

Hellayne  was  sitting  alone  by  the  window  in  a  long  silent 
gallery.  She  could  not  take  her  eyes  off  the  restless  outline 
of  the  clouds  where  head  on  head  and  face  on  face  continued 
taking  shape.  In  vain  her  teased  brain  tried  to  see  but  clouds. 
Two  nights  ago  had  not  a  horrid  face  grinned  at  her  from  out 
of  these  same  clouds?  The  face  of  a  wolf  it  had  seemed. 
And  it  had  taken  human  shape  and  changed  to  the  face  of  the 


252   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

man  who  had  brought  her  to  this  abode  from  the  sanctuary 
where  she  had  fallen  by  the  shrine. 

And  yet,  as  she  looked  at  the  sun,  whose  beams  were  fast 
dwindling  on  the  bar  of  the  horizon,  how  she  yearned  to  keep 
the  light  a  little  longer,  if  only  a  few  short  minutes.  She 
could  have  cried  out  to  the  sun  not  to  leave  her  so  soon, 
again  to  wage  her  lonely  war  with  the  Twilight  and  with  Fear. 
For  during  the  hours  of  day  her  lord  was  away.  Business  of 
state  he  termed  what  took  him  from  her  side.  With  a  leer 
he  left  and  with  a  leer  he  was  wont  to  return.  And  with  him 
the  memory  of  his  meeting  with  Tristan! 

She  had  found  him  again,  the  man  she  loved!  Found  him 
—  but  how?  And  Hellayne  covered  her  burning  eyes  with 
her  white  hands. 

This  other  woman  who  had  stepped  in  between  her  and 
Tristan,  who  had  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  his  arm  and  had 
silently  challenged  her  for  his  possession  —  what  was  she  to 
him? 

For  three  days  and  three  nights  the  thought  had  tormented 
her  even  to  the  verge  of  madness.  Had  she  sacrificed  every 
thing  but  to  find  him  she  loved  hi  the  arms  of  another? 
Silently  she  had  borne  the  taunts  of  her  lord,  his  insults,  his 
vile  insinuations.  He  did  not  understand.  He  never  under 
stood.  What  of  it?  In  the  great  balance  what  mattered  it 
after  all? 

She  must  see  Tristan.  She  must  hear  the  truth  from  his 
own  lips.  In  vain  she  puzzled  her  brain  how  to  reach  him. 
She  remembered  his  last  outcry  of  protest.  There  was  a 
mystery  she  must  solve.  Come  what  might,  she  was  once 
more  the  woman  who  loved.  And  she  was  going  to  claim 
the  payment  of  love>! 

As  regarded  that  other,  to  whom  she  had  bound  herself, 
her  conscience  had  long  absolved  her  of  an  obligation  that 
had  been  forced  upon  her.  Had  fate  and  fact  not  proved  the 
thing  impossible?  Had  fate  not  cast  them  again  and  again 


FACE  TO  FACE  253 

into  each  other's  arms  and  made  mock  of  their  conscience? 
Nature  had  made  them  lovers,  let  it  be  the  will  of  God  or  the 
devil. 

And  lovers  till  death  should  they  be  henceforth.  He 
belonged  to  her.  Away  with  faith  —  away  with  fear  of  this 
world,  or  the  next.  Away  with  all  but  the  dear  present,  in 
which  the  brutality  of  others  had  set  her  free.  For  a  moment 
her  thoughts  turned  almost  pagan. 

Was  she  to  return  to  the  old,  loveless  life  in  that  far  corner 
of  the  earth,  while  he  whom  she  loved  took  up  a  new  existence 
in  the  centre  of  the  world,  loving  another  to  whose  ambition 
he  might  owe  a  great  career?  She  needed  indeed  to  sit  in 
silence,  she  who  had  done  daring  things  without  a  misgiving, 
as  if  impelled  by  a  power  not  her  own.  She  had  done  them, 
marvelling  at  her  own  courage,  at  her  own  faith  in  him  she 
loved,  and  she  had  not  faltered. 

The  torturing  dusk  was  drowning  every  living  thing  in 
pallid  waves  of  shadow.  One  by  one,  through  the  wan 
gallery  in  which  she  was  locked,  the  motley  spectres  of  night 
would  pass  in  all  their  horrors,  and  begin  their  crazy,  sound 
less  nods  and  becks. 

Suddenly  she  cowered  back,  shuddering,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  darkening  depths  of  the  gallery  and  her  day 
dreams  died,  like  pale  ashes  crumbling  on  the  hearth. 

Roger  de  Laval  had  entered  and  was  regarding  her  with  a 
malignant  leer  that  almost  froze  the  blood  in  her  veins. 
She  knew  not  what  business  had  taken  him  abroad.  Never 
theless  she  was  assured  that  some  dark  deed  was  slumbering 
in  the  depths  of  his  soul. 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  your  fine  lover?  "  he  said  as  he  slowly 
advanced  towards  her.  "  You  are  grieved  to  have  your 
thoughts  broken  into  by  your  husband  ?  No  doubt  you  wish 
me  dead  —  " 

"  Spare  me  this  torture,  my  lord,"  she  entreated.  "  I 
have  answered  a  thousand  times  —  " 


254  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Then  answer  again  —  " 

"  I  swear  before  God  and  the  Saints  he  is  guiltless.  He 
knew  not  I  was  in  Rome." 

"  Swear  what  you  will!  A  woman's  oath  is  but  a  wind 
upon  one's  cheek  on  a  warm  summer  day  —  gone  ere  you 
have  felt  it.  The  oath  of  a  woman  who  has  followed  her 
lover  —  " 

"  I  have  not  done  so! " 

"  You  have  done  your  best  to  make  the  world  believe  it." 

"  What  of  yourself?  "  There  was  a  ring  of  scorn  in  her 
voice. 

"  You  have  brought  me  to  shame! " 

"  What  of  the  women  you  have  shared  with  me?  " 

Hellayne's  eyes  met  those  of  her  tormentor. 

"  It  is  a  man's  part !  " 

"  And  you  are  a  man!  " 

"  One  at  least  shall  have  cause  to  think  so." 

"  Perchance  you  will  have  him  murdered.  Why  not  kill 
me,  too?  That,  too,  is  a  man's  part." 

He  gave  a  great  roar. 

"  And  who  says  that  I  shall  not?  " 

An  icy  fear,  not  for  herself,  but  for  Tristan,  gripped  her 
heart.  She  tried  to  hide  it  under  a  mantle  of  indifference. 

"  What  have  you  ever  done  to  make  yourself  beloved?  " 

"  By  Beelzebub  —  you  —  the  runaway  mistress  of  a  fop  — 
dares  to  question  me  —  her  rightful  lord?  " 

"  Who  made  the  laws  that  bound  me  to  your  keeping? 
They  are  man-made,  and  God  knows  as  little  of  them  as  he 
knows  of  you.  It  was  your  measureless  conceit,  your  bound 
less  egotism,  that  whispered  to  you  that  any  woman  should 
feel  honored,  should  deem  it  the  height  of  glory,  to  be  your 
wife." 

"  And  is  it  not?  " 

She  shuddered. 

"  You  never  dreamed  there  might  be  something  in  the 


FACE  TO  FACE  255 

depths  of  my  soul  that  cried  out  for  more  than  the  mere  com 
forts  and  exigencies  of  existence!  Something  that  craved 
love,  companionship,  and,  above  all,  friendship.  What  have 
you  done  to  waken  this  little  slumbering  voice  which  died  in 
the  shadow  of  your  tremendous  egotism?  " 

He  stared  at  her. 

"  He  has  taught  you  this  speech,  by  God!  " 

"  He  has  awakened  my  true  self!  What  was  I  to  you  but 
part  of  your  magnificence,  a  thing  to  make  your  fellows 
envious  — • " 

He  roared.     She  continued: 

"  The  one  decent  woman  of  your  life  —  your  world  —  " 

His  eyes  glared. 

"  So  then,  this  low-born  churl  is  a  better  man  than  I?  " 

"  At  least  he  knew  I  had  a  soul  of  my  own." 

"  Skillfully  cultivated  to  his  own  sweet  ends." 

"  His  ends  were  innocent,  else  had  he  not  fled." 

"  Knowing  that  you  would  follow  him." 

"  He  knew  naught." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen." 

"  It  was  you  who  brought  us  together!  "  she  said  with  quiet 
scorn.  "  You  were  so  sure  in  your  pride  and  your  power  and 
of  my  own  timidity  that  you  thought  it  impossible  that  some 
thing  might  defy  them.  And  you  could  not  understand  that 
another  might  be  so  much  closer  to  my  nature,  or  that  I  had 
a  nature  of  my  own.  In  those  days  I  well  remember,  ere  my 
heart  had  strayed  too  far,  I  tried  to  waken  you  to  the  great 
danger.  I  tried  to  speak  of  mine.  But  you  would  not  be 
apprised  of  aught  that  would  seem  a  concession  to  your  pride. 
So  we  are  come  to  this ! " 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Come  to  what?  "  he  thundered. 

"  My  ruin  —  and  your  disgrace !  " 

His  breast  heaved. 

"  Of  you  I  know  nothing.    As  for  myself  —  I  suffer  no 


256  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

disgrace.  I  am  too  much  a  man  of  sense  for  that.  Not  a 
soul  but  thinks  that  you  are  absent  with  my  consent.  A 
pilgrimage  to  Rome!  Many  a  woman  has,  for  her  soul's  good 
gone  alone.  Not  a  soul,  I  warrant,  has  thought  of  your  con 
nection  with  that  fellow's  plight.  Not  a  soul  but  thinks  that 
this  is  the  sole  cause  of  your  disappearance.  And  when  I, 
too,  went  I  was  careful  to  leave  the  rumor  behind." 

He  stepped  closer,  his  breath  fanning  her  pale  cheeks. 
She  looked  almost  like  a  ghost  in  the  grey  twilight. 

"  And  now  — "  he  continued,  licking  his  sensuous  lips, 
"  you  are  found  —  you  are  found  —  my  beautiful  wife  — 
you  are  found  —  and  —  to  the  eyes  of  the  world  at  least  — 
unstained.  One  alone  whose  lips  are  sealed,  knows." 

Hellayne's  lips  tightened. 

"  And  a  woman." 

A  strange  expression  came  into  his  face. 

"  Have  you  spied  upon  me,  too?  " 

"  You  forget  the  meeting  at  the  Arch." 

"  No  woman  will  spread  the  story  of  a  rival's  claims ! " 

There  was  a  pause,  then  he  continued,  with  deliberate 
slowness : 

"  You  shall  come  back  with  me  — •  my  beautiful  Hellayne 

—  my  wife  in  name,  if  not  in  deed!    And  you  shall  submit 
to  my  caresses,  knowing,  as  I  do,  how  loathsome  they  are. 
And  you  shall  smile  —  smile  — •  and  appear  happy  —  my  wife 
henceforth  in  name  only.    And  you  shall  smile  no  less  at 
what  henceforth  your  lord's  pleasure  may  be  with  other  women 

—  fair  as  yourself  —  and  you  shall  grow  old  and  grey,  and 
the  thing  you  call  your  soul  shall  die  and  wither  up  your 
beauty  —  and  never  a  word  shall  pass  your  lips  anent  this 
chastisement.    And  at  last  you  shall  die  —  and  be  laid  by  — 
and  not  a  soul  shall  ever  be  the  wiser  for  your  shame." 

Hellayne  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
"  And  if  I  should  refuse  to  accept  this  fate?  " 
"  Then  you  shall  be  flung  into  a  nunnery." 


FACE  TO  FACE  257 

"  And  if  I  refuse  to  become  a  nun?  " 

"  Then  your  lover  shall  pay  the  price  —  with  his  blood 
instead  of  yours.  Know  you  the  woman  he  so  madly  loves?  " 

"  It  is  a  lie !  "  she  shrieked. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Her  name  is  Theodora.     Saw  you  ever  fairer  creature?  " 

"God!" 

"  I  want  your  answer!  "  leered  the  man. 

"  I  do  not  refuse !  " 

An  evil  smile  curved  his  lips. 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  reasonable  —  my  fair  Hellayne !  " 

His  lips  were  parted  in  a  fatuous  smile.  He  pictured  to 
himself  the  pain  at  the  parting  and  indeed  his  satisfaction 
was  so  great  that  he  decided  to  prolong  it  yet  a  little  longer. 
How  amusing  it  would  be  to  watch  the  face  of  him  who  had 
dared  to  love  Hellayne.  Knowing  as  now  he  did  all  the 
motives  for  his  actions,  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  think  that  he 
could  mar  the  astonishing  good  fortune  of  this  adventurer 
who  had  found  employment  in  the  service  of  Alb  eric  by  the 
intrusion  of  this  passion  for  another  woman.  It  would  be 
real  joy  to  see  this  creature  of  sentiment  thus  torn  and  tor 
tured.  And  it  was  yet  a  greater  joy  to  force  Hellayne  to 
witness  the  struggle,  forced  to  smile  at  the  conquest  of  her 
lover  by  another  woman.  And  he  would  watch  the  pangs  of 
their  suffering  till  the  day  of  his  departure. 

With  her  own  blue  eyes  Hellayne  should  witness  the  love 
of  him  she  had  so  madly  followed,  estranged  by  the  beauty 
of  Theodora,  whose  lure  no  mortal  might  resist. 

After  he  had  entered  his  own  chamber,  Hellayne  flew  like 
a  mad  thing  down  the  gloom-haunted  gallery.  Could  she 
but  escape  from  this  humiliation  —  even  through  death's 
doors  —  she  would  not  shrink.  She  felt,  if  she  remained, 
she  would  go  mad. 

It  was  true,  then!    Tristan  loved  another.     The  old  love 


258  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

had  been  forgotten  and  cast  aside!    All  her  fears  and  mis 
givings  returned  in  one  mad  whirl. 

Frantically  she  tried  to  remove  the  heavy  bolt  when  she 
was  paralyzed  by  a  demoniacal  laugh  that  issued  behind  her 
and  swooning  she  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  man  whose  name  she 
bore. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE    CRESSETS    OF    DOOM 


EVER  had  Tristan's  feelings 
been  more  hopelessly  involved 
than  since  that  eventful  night 
by  the  Arch  of  the  Seven  Can 
dles  when,  like  a  ghost  of  the 
past,  Hellayne  had  once  more 
crossed  his  path  and  had  given 
his  solemn  pledge  the  lie.  And 
the  more  Tristan's  thoughts 
reverted  to  that  fateful  hour, 
when  his  oath  seemed  like  so  many  words  written  upon  water, 
and  the  man  who  believed  him  guilty  held  his  life  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand,  the  greater  grew  his  misery  and  unrest. 
Physically  exhausted,  mentally  startled  at  the  vehemence  of 
his  own  feelings,  he  was  suffering  the  relapse  of  a  passion 
which  he  thought  had  burnt  itself  out,  letting  his  mind  drift 
back  to  the  memory  of  happier  days  —  days  now  gone  forever. 
Why  had  she  followed  him?  What  was  she  doing  here? 
Was  the  old  fight  to  be  renewed?  And  withal  happiness 
mingled  with  the  pain. 

In  the  midst  of  these  thoughts  came  others.  « 

Had  she  accompanied  the  Count  Laval  to  Rome  and  were 
his  questionings  mere  pretense,  to  surprise  the  unguarded 
confession  of  a  wrong  of  which  he  knew  himself  sinless?  Had 
she  been  here  all  these  days,  seeking  him  perchance,  yet  not 
daring  to  make  her  presence  known? 

And  now  where  was  she?  Hardly  found  had  he  lost  her? 
And  see  her  he  must  —  whatever  the  hazard,  even  to  death. 


260   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

How  much  he  had  to  say  to  her.  How  much  he  had  to  ask. 
Her  presence  had  undone  everything.  Was  the  old  life  to 
begin  again,  only  with  a  change  of  scenes? 

He  had  read  her  love  for  him  hi  her  eyes,  and  he  could  have 
almost  wished  that  moment  to  have  been  his  last,  ere  the 
untimely  arrival  of  Theodora  saved  him  from  the  death  stroke 
of  his  enraged  enemy.  For  he  had  seen  the  light  fade  from 
Hellayne's  blue  eyes  when  she  faced  the  other  woman,  and 
Laval's  taunts  had  found  receptive  ears.  Everything  had 
conspired  against  him  on  that  night,  even  to  seeming  the 
thing  he  was  not,  and  with  a  heart  heavy  to  breaking  Tristan 
scoured  the  city  of  Rome  for  three  days  in  quest  of  the  woman, 
but  to  no  avail. 

His  duties  were  not  onerous  and  the  city  was  quiet.  No 
farther  attempts  had  been  made  to  liberate  the  Pontiff  and 
the  feuds  between  the  rival  factions  seemed  for  the  nonce 
suspended. 

Nevertheless  Tristan  felt  instinctively,  that  all  was  not 
well.  Night  after  night  Basil  descended  into  the  crypts  of 
the  Emperor's  Tomb,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  with  one 
or  two  companions,  men  Tristan  had  never  seen.  Ostensibly 
the  Grand  Chamberlain  visited  the  cells  of  certain  prisoners 
of  state,  and  one  night  Tristan  ventured  to  follow  him.  But 
he  was  seized  with  so  great  a  terror  that  he  resolved  to  confide 
in  Odo  of  Cluny,  who  possessed  the  entire  confidence  of  the 
Senator  of  Rome,  and  be  guided  by  his  counsel. 

In  the  meantime,  like  a  thunderbolt  out  of  a  clear  sky,  the 
terrible  thing  had  happened  again.  From  the  churches  of 
Santa  Maria  hi  Trastevere  and  Santa  Sabina  of  the  Aventine, 
the  Holy  Host  had  been  taken,  notwithstanding  the  increased 
number  of  guards  keeping  watch  in  the  sanctuaries. 

Rome  shivered  in  the  throes  of  abject  terror.  People 
whispered  in  groups  along  the  thoroughfares,  hardly  daring 
to  raise  then*  voices,  and  many  asserted  that  the  Antichrist 
had  returned  once  more  to  earth  and  that  the  End  of  Time 


THE  CRESSETS  OF  DOOM        261 

was  nigh.  Like  a  dread  foreboding  of  evil  it  gripped  Tristan's 
soul. 

And  day  and  night  interminable  processions  of  hermits  and 
monks  traversed  the  city  with  crosses  and  banners  and 
smouldering  incense.  Their  chants  could  be  heard  from  the 
ancient  Flaminian  to  the  Appian  Gate. 

Once  more  the  shades  of  evening  laid  their  cool  touch  upon 
the  city's  fevered  brow,  and  as  the  distant  hills  rose  into  a 
black  mass  against  the  sunset  two  figures  emerged  on  the 
battlements  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb  and  gazed  down  on  the 
dimmed  outlines  of  the  Pontifical  City. 

Before  them  lay  a  prospect  fit  to  rouse  in  the  hearts  of  all 
who  knew  its  history  an  indescribable  emotion.  There,  before 
them,  lay  the  broad  field  of  Rome,  whereon  the  first  ominous 
activities  of  the  Old  World's  conquerors  had  been  enacted. 
There  in  the  mellow  light  of  eve,  lay  the  Latin  land,  once 
popular  and  rich  beyond  all  quarters  of  the  earth  since  the 
plain  of  Babylon  became  a  desert,  and  now  no  less  deserted 
and  forlorn.  And  from  the  height  from  which  these  two 
looked  down  upon  it,  its  shallow  hills  and  ridges  were  truly 
minimized  to  the  aspect  of  one  mighty  plain,  increasing  the 
vast  sense  of  desolation.  Rome  —  Rome  alone  —  denied  the 
melancholy  story  of  disaster,  utter  and  complete,  the  work  of 
Goth  and  Hun  and  of  malarial  terror. 

But  now  over  all  this  solemn  prospect  was  the  luminous 
blue  light  of  evening,  fading  to  violet  and  palest  yellow  in  the 
farthest  west,  where  lay  the  Tyrrhene  Sea. 

Presently  one  of  the  two  laid  aside  his  cloak  and,  baring 
his  arms  to  the  kiss  of  the  wind  that  crept  softly  about  them, 
said  in  weary  accents : 

"  Never  in  all  my  life,  Father,  have  I  known  a  day  to  pass 
as  tardily  as  this,  for  to  me  the  coming  hour  is  fraught  with 
evil  that  may  abide  with  me  forever,  and  my  soul  is  eager  to 
know  its  doom,  yet  shrinks  from  the  sentence  that  may  be 
passed." 


262   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Odo  of  Cluny  looked  into  Tristan's  weary  face. 

"  I,  too,  have  a  presentiment  of  Evil,  as  never  before,"  the 
monk  replied,  laying  a  gentle  hand  on  his  companion's  shoul 
der.  "  There  are  things  abroad  hi  Rome  —  one  dares  not 
even  whisper.  The  Lord  Alberic  chose  an  evil  hour  for  his 
pilgrimage  to  Monte  Gargano.  Have  you  no  tidings?  " 

"  No  tidings,"  reechoed  Tristan  gloomily. 

Odo  of  Cluny  nodded  pensively. 

"  It  seems  passing  strange.  I  know  not  why  —  "  his  voice 
sank  to  a  whisper.  "  I  mistrust  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 
Whom  can  we  trust?  A  poison  wind  is  blowing  over  these 
hills  —  withering  —  destroying.  The  awful  sacrilege  at 
Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere,  following  so  closely  upon  the  one 
at  the  Lateran,  is  but  another  proof  that  dark  powers  are  at 
work  —  powers  defying  human  ken  —  devils  hi  human  shape, 
doomed  to  burn  to  a  crisp  in  the  eternal  fires." 

u  Meanwhile  —  what  can  we  do?  " 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Lord  Basil?  "  — 

"  He  was  much  concerned,  examined  the  place  in  person, 
but  found  no  clue." 

"  Are  your  men  trustworthy?  " 

"  I  know  not,  Father !  For  a  slight  service  I  chanced  to  do 
the  Lord  Alberic  he  made  me  captain  of  the  guard  hi  place  of 
one  who  had  incurred  his  displeasure.  My  men  are  Swiss 
and  Lombards,  a  Spaniard  or  two  —  some  Calabrians  —  no 
Romans." 

"  Therein  lies  your  salvation,"  interposed  the  Benedictine. 
"  How  many  guard  this  tomb?  " 

"  Some  four  score  men  —  why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  —  save  that  there  lurks  some  dark  mystery 
behind  the  curtain.  Let  no  man  —  nor  woman  —  relax  your 
watchfulness.  There  are  tempests  that  destroy  even  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon,"  the  monk  continued  with  meaning. 
"  And  such  a  one  may  burst  one  night." 

**  Your  words  are  dark,  Father,  and  fill  me  with  misgivings," 


THE  CRESSETS  OF  DOOM         263 

"  And  well  they  should,"  Odo  interposed  with  a  penetrating 
glance  at  the  young  captain.  "  For  rumor  hath  it  that  another 
bird  has  strayed  into  the  Lady  Theodora's  bower  —  " 

Tristan  colored  under  the  monk's  scrutiny. 

"  I  was  present  at  her  feast.  Yet  I  know  not  how  I  got 
there ! " 

The  monk  looked  puzzled. 

"  Now  that  you  have  crossed  the  dark  path  of  Marozia's 
sister  I  fear  the  ambushed  gorge  and  the  black  arrow  that  sings 
from  the  hidden  depths.  Why  seek  the  dark  waters  of  Satan, 
when  the  white  walls  of  Christ  rise  luminously  before  you?  " 

"  What  is  the  import  of  these  strange  words  so  strangely 
uttered?  "  Tristan  turned  to  the  monk  with  a  puzzled  air. 

"  That  shall  be  made  known  to  you  in  time.  Treason 
lurks  everywhere.  Seal  your  ears  against  the  Siren's  song. 
Some  say  she  is  a  vampire  returned  to  earth,  doomed  to  live 
on,  as  long  as  men  are  base  enough  to  barter  their  soul  for  her 
kisses.  And  yet  —  how  much  longer?  The  Millennium 
draws  nigh.  The  End  of  Time  is  near." 

There  was  a  pause.  Tristan  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words 
would  not  come  from  his  lips. 

At  last  with  an  effort  he  stammered : 

"  At  the  risk  of  incurring  your  censure,  Father  —  even  to 
the  palace  of  Theodora  must  I  wend  my  steps  to  recover  that 
which  is  my  own." 

And  he  informed  the  Monk  of  Cluny  how  he  had  lost  his 
poniard  and  his  scarf  of  blue  Samite. 

"  Why  not  send  one  you  trust  to  fetch  them  back?  "  pro 
tested  the  monk.  "  It  is  not  well  to  brave  the  peril  twice." 

"  Myself  must  I  go,  Father.  For  once  and  all  time  I  mean 
to  break  her  spell." 

"  Deem  you  to  accomplish  that  which  no  man  hath  —  and 
live?  " 

"  There  is  that  which  shall  keep  my  honor  inviolate," 
Tristan  replied. 


264  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

The  cloudless  sky  was  shot  with  dreamy  stars,  and  cooling 
breezes  were  wafted  over  the  Roman  Campagna.  Through 
the  stillness  came  the  muffled  challenges  of  the  guard. 

The  twain  crossed  the  ramparts  of  the  Mausoleum  in 
silence,  holding  to  their  way  which  led  towards  a  postern, 
when  suddenly,  out  of  the  battlements'  embrazure,  peered 
two  gray,  ghastly  faces,  which  disappeared  as  suddenly.  But 
Tristan's  quick  eye  had  marked  them  and,  plucking  at  the 
monk's  sleeve,  he  whispered: 

"  Look  yonder,  Father  —  where  stand  two  forms  that  scan 
us  eagerly.  My  bewildered  brain  refuses  me  the  knowledge 
I  seek,  yet  I  could  vouch  the  sight  of  them  is  somehow  familiar 
to  my  eyes." 

"  That  may  well  be,"  replied  the  monk.  "  For  all  this  day 
long  have  I  been  haunted  by  the  consciousness  that  our  move 
ments  are  being  watched.  Yet,  I  marvel  not,  for  until  Pur 
gatory  receive  the  soul  of  this  accursed  wanton,  there  is 
neither  peace  nor  security  for  us.  Her  devilish  hand  may 
even  now  be  informing  all  this  dark  plot,  that  seethes  about 
us,"  Odo  of  Cluny  concluded  in  apprehensive  tones. 

Presently  they  drew  near  the  great  gateway,  before  which 
the  flicker  of  cressets  showed  a  company  of  the  guard,  with 
breast  plates  and  shields,  their  faces  hidden  by  the  lowered 
visors  of  their  Norman  casks.  Among  them  they  noted  a 
wizened  eunuch,  who,  after  peering  at  them  with  his  ferret- 
like  eyes,  pointed  to  a  door  sunk  in  the  wall,  the  while  he 
whispered  something  in  Tristan's  ear.  Thereupon  Odo  and 
Tristan  entered  the  guard  chamber. 

It  was  deserted. 

Beneath  the  cressets'  uncertain  gleam,  as  they  emerged 
beyond,  stood  the  eunuch  with  the  same  ferret-like  glance, 
pointing  across  the  dim  passage,  to,  where  could  be  made  out 
the  entrance  to  a  gallery.  The  group  behind  them  stood 
immobile  in  the  flickering  light  and  the  space  about  them  was 
naught  but  a  shadowy  void.  Yet,  as  they  went,  their  ears 


THE  CRESSETS  OF  DOOM         265 

caught  the  clink  of  unseen  mail,  the  murmur  of  unseen  voices, 
and  Tristan  gripped  the  monk's  arm  and  said  in  husky  tones : 

"  By  all  the  saints,  —  we  are  fairly  in  the  midst  of  Basil's 
creatures.  An  open  foe  I  can  face  without  shrinking,  but  I 
tell  you  this  peril,  ambushed  in  impenetrable  night,  saps  my 
courage  as  naught  else  would.  If  but  one  battle-cry  would 
shatter  this  numbing  silence,  one  simple  sword  would  flash, 
as  it  leaps  from  its  scabbard,  I  should  be  myself  again,  ready 
to  face  any  foe !  " 

They  entered  the  half  gloom  of  a  painted  gallery  where 
dog-headed  deities  held  forth  in  grotesque  representation 
beside  the  crucified  Christ.  They  stole  along  its  whole 
deserted  length  until  they  reached  a  door,  hardly  discernible 
in  the  pictured  wall.  The  lamps  burned  low,  but  in  the 
centre  of  the  marble  floor  a  brazier  sent  up  a  brighter  flame, 
filling  the  air  with  a  fragrance  as  of  sandal  wood. 

Tristan's  hand  groped  for  a  spring  along  the  outer  edge  of 
the  door.  At  his  touch  a  panel  receded.  Both  he  and  the 
monk  entered  and  the  door  closed  noiselessly  behind  them. 
Tristan  produced  a  candle  and  two  flints  from  under  his  coat 
of  mail.  But  ere  he  could  light  it  by  striking  the  flints,  the 
approach  of  a  dim  light  from  the  farther  end  of  the  tortuous 
gallery  caused  him  to  start,  and  both  watched  its  approach 
with  dread  and  misgiving. 

Soon  a  voice  fell  on  their  ear,  answered  by  another,  and 
Tristan  swiftly  drew  his  companion  into  a  shadowy  recess 
which  concealed  them  while  it  yet  enabled  them  to  hear  every 
word  spoken  by  the  two. 

"  Thus  we  administer  justice  in  Rome,"  said  the  one 
speaker,  in  whom  Tristan  recognized  the  voice  of  the  Grand 
Chamberlain. 

"  Somewhat  like  in  our  own  feudal  chateaux,"  came  back 
the  surly  reply. 

Tristan  started  as  the  voice  reached  his  ear.  How  came 
Roger  de  Laval  here  in  that  company? 


266  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  You  approve?  "  said  the  silken  voice. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  night  and  thirst  to  make  the  flesh 
pliable." 

"  Then  why  not  profit  thereby?  —  But  are  you  still 
resolved  upon  this  thing?  "  — 

There  was  a  pause.    The  voice  barked  reply: 

"  It  is  a  fair  exchange." 

Their  talk  died  to  a  vague  murmur  till  presently  the  harsher 
voice  rose  above  the  silence. 

"  Well,  then,  my  Lord  Basil,  if  these  matters  be  as  you  say, 
—  if  you  will  use  your  good  offices  with  the  Lady  Theodora  —  " 

"  Can  you  doubt  my  sincerity  —  my  desire  to  promote  your 
interests  —  even  to  the  detriment  of  my  own?  " 

His  companion  spat  viciously. 

"  He  who  sups  with  the  devil  must  needs  have  a  long 
spoon.  What  is  to  be  your  share?  " 

"  Your  meaning  is  not  quite  clear,  my  lord." 

"  Naught  for  naught !  "  Roger  snarled  viciously.  "  Shall 
we  say  —  the  price  of  your  services?  " 

"  My  lord,"  piped  Basil  with  an  injured  air,  "  you  wrong 
me  deeply.  It  is  but  my  interest  in  you,  my  desire  to  see  you 
reconciled  to  your  beautiful  wife  —  " 

"How  know  you  she  is  beautiful?  "  came  the  snarling  reply. 

"  I,  too,  was  an  unseen  witness  of  your  meeting  at  the  Arch 
of  the  Seven  Candles,"  Basil  replied  suavely. 

"  Was  all  Rome  abroad  to  gaze  upon  my  shame?  "  growled 
Basil's  companion.  "  Though  —  in  a  manner  —  I  am  re 
venged,"  he  continued,  through  his  clenched  teeth.  "  In 
stead  of  giving  her  her  freedom,  I  shall  use  her  shrinking 
body  for  my  plaything  —  I  shall  use  her  so  that  no  other  lover 
shall  desire  her.  As  for  that  low-born  churl  —  " 

With  a  low  cry  Tristan,  sword  in  hand,  made  a  forward 
lunge.  The  monk's  grip  restrained  him. 

"  Madman ! "  Odo  whispered  in  his  ear.  "  Would  you 
court  certain  death?  " 


THE   CRESSETS  OF  DOOM        267 

The  words  of  the  twain  had  died  to  a  whisper.  Thus  they 
were  lost  to  Tristan's  ear,  though  he  strained  every  nerve, 
a  deadly  fear  for  Hellayne  weighting  down  his  soul. 

The  two  continued  their  walk,  passing  so  near  that  Tristan 
could  have  touched  the  hem  of  then-  garbs.  Basil  was 
importuning  his  companion  on  some  matter  which  the  latter 
could  not  hear.  Laval's  reply  seemed  not  in  accord  with  the 
Grand  Chamberlain's  plans,  for  his  voice  became  more 
insistent. 

"  But  you  will  come  —  my  lord  —  and  you  will  bring  your 
beautiful  Countess?  Remember,  her  presence  in  Rome  is  no 
longer  a  secret.  And  —  whatever  the  cause  which  prompted 
her  —  pilgrimage,  would  you  have  the  Roman  mob  point 
sneering  fingers  at  Roger  de  Laval?  "  — 

"By  God,  they  shall  not!" 

"  Then  the  wisdom  of  my  counsel  speaks  for  itself,"  Basil 
interposed  soothingly.  "  It  is  the  one  reward  I  crave." 

There  was  a  pause.  Whatever  of  evil  brooded  in  that 
brief  space  of  time  only  these  two  knew. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say,"  Roger  replied  at  last,  and  from 
their  chain  mail  the  gleam  of  the  lantern  they  carried  evoked 
intermittent  answer. 

When  then:  steps  had  died  to  silence  Tristan  turned  to  the 
monk.  His  voice  was  unsteady  and  there  was  a  great  fear 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Father,  I  need  your  help  as  have  I  never  needed  human 
help  before.  There  is  some  devil's  stew  simmering  in  the 
Lord  Basil's  cauldron.  I  fear  the  worst  for  her  —  " 

Odo  shot  a  questioning  glance  at  the  speaker. 

"  The  wife  of  the  Count  Laval?  "  he  returned  sharply. 

"  Father  —  you  know  why  I  am  here  —  and  how  I  have 
striven  to  tear  this  love  from  my  heart  and  soul.  Would  she 
had  not  come!  Would  I  had  never  seen  her  more- — for 
where  is  it  all  to  lead?  For,  after  all,  she  is  his  wife  —  and 
I  am  the  transgressor.  But  now  I  fear  for  her  life.  You 


268   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

have  heard,  Father.  I  must  see  her!  I  must  have  speech 
with  her.  I  must  warn  her.  Father  —  I  promise  —  that 
shall  be  all  —  if  you  will  but  consent  and  find  her  —  for  I 
know  not  her  abode." 

"  You  promise  —  "  interposed  the  monk.  "  Promise  noth 
ing.  For  if  you  meet,  it  will  not  be  all.  All  flesh  is  weak. 
Entrust  your  message  to  my  care  and  I  shall  try  to  do  your 
bidding.  But  see  her  no  more!  Your  souls  are  in  grave 
peril  —  and  Death  stands  behind  you,  waiting  the  last  throw." 

"  Even  if  our  souls  should  be  forever  stamped  with  their 
dark  errors  I  must  see  her.  I  must  know  why  she  came 
hither  —  I  must  know  the  worst.  Else  should  I  never  find 
rest  this  side  of  the  grave.  Father,  in  mercy,  do  my  bidding, 
for  gloom  and  misery  hold  my  soul  in  their  clutches,  and  I 
must  know,  ere  the  twilight  of  Eternity  engulfs  us  both." 

"  We  will  speak  of  this  anon,"  the  Monk  of  Cluny  inter 
posed,  as  together  they  left  the  gallery,  now  sunk  in  the  deep 
est  gloom  and,  passing  through  the  vaulted  corridors,  emerged 
upon  the  ramparts.  No  sign  of  life  appeared  in  the  twilight, 
cast  by  the  towering  walls,  save  where  in  the  shadowy  pas 
sages  the  dimmed  lights  of  cressets  marked  the  passing  of 
armed  men. 

Below,  the  city  of  Rome  began  to  take  shape  in  the  dun  and 
ghostly  starlight,  thrusting  shadowy  domes  and  towers  out 
of  her  dark  slumber. 

In  the  distance  the  undulating  crests  of  the  Alban  Hills 
mingled  with  the  night  mists,  and  from  the  nearby  Neronian 
Field  came  the  croaking  of  the  ravens,  intensifying  rather  than 
breaking  the  stillness. 


CHAPTER   VI 


A    MEETING    OF    GHOSTS 


VOICE  whose  prompting  he 
could  not  resist,  impelled  Tris 
tan,  after  his  parting  from  the 
Monk  of  Cluny,  to  follow  the 
Grand  Chamberlain,  who  had 
taken  the  direction  of  the  Pin- 
cian  Hill.  His  retreating  form 
became  more  phantom-like  in 
the  misty  moonlight,  as  viewed 
from  the  ramparts  of  the  Emper 
or's  Tomb.  Nevertheless,  mindful  of  the  parting  words  of 
the  monk,  and  rilled  with  dire  misgivings,  Tristan  set  out  at 
once.  True  to  his  determination,  he  procured  a  small  lantern 
and  a  piece  of  coarse  thick  cloth,  which  he  concealed  under 
his  cloak,  then,  by  a  solitary  pathway,  he  followed  the  direction 
he  had  seen  Basil  take.  The  Bridge  of  San  Angelo  was 
deserted  and  not  a  human  being  was  abroad. 

After  a  time  he  arrived  at  a  small  copse,  where  Basil's 
form  had  disappeared  from  sight.  Clearing  away  the  under 
brush,  Tristan  came  to  what  seemed  a  fissure  in  a  wall,  which 
cast  a  tremendous  shadow  over  the  surrounding  trees  and 
bushes.  Creeping  in  as  far  as  he  dared,  he  paused,  then, 
with  mingled  emotions  of  expectancy  and  apprehension 
which  affected  him  so  powerfully  that  for  a  moment  he  was 
hardly  master  of  his  actions,  he  slowly  and  carefully  uncovered 
his  lantern,  struck  two  flints  and  lighted  the  wick. 

His  first  glance  was  intuitively  directed  to  the  cavity  that 
opened  beneath  him. 


270  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Of  Basil  he  saw  no  trace,  notwithstanding  he  had  seen  him 
enter  the  cavity  at  the  point  where  he  himself  had  entered. 
Ere  long  however,  he  heard  a  thin,  long-drawn  sound,  now 
louder,  now  softer;  now  approaching,  now  receding,  now 
verging  toward  shrillness,  now  returning  to  a  faint,  gentle 
swell.  This  strange,  unearthly  music  was  interrupted  by  a 
succession  of  long,  deep  rolling  sounds,  which  rose  grandly 
about  the  fissures  above,  like  prisoned  thunderbolts  striving 
to  escape.  Roused  by  the  mystery  of  the  place  and  the 
uncertainty  of  his  own  purpose,  Tristan  was,  for  a  moment, 
roused  to  a  pitch  of  such  excitement  that  almost  threatened 
to  unsteady  his  reason.  Conscious  of  the  danger  attending 
his  venture,  and  the  fearful  legends  of  invisible  beings  and 
worlds,  he  was  constrained  to  believe  that  demons  were 
hovering  around  him  in  viewless  assemblies,  calling  to  him 
in  unearthly  voices,  in  an  unknown  tongue,  to  proceed  upon 
his  enterprise  and  take  the  consequences  of  his  daring. 

Thus  he  remained  for  a  time,  fearful  of  advancing  or 
retracing  his  steps,  looking  fixedly  into  the  trackless  gloom 
and  listening  to  the  strange  sounds  which,  alternately  rising 
and  falling,  still  floated  around  him.  The  fitful  light  of  his 
lantern  suddenly  fell  upon  a  shape  that  seemed  to  creep 
through  one  of  the  stone  galleries.  In  the  unsteady  gleam 
it  appeared  from  the  distance  like  a  gnome  wandering 
through  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  or  a  forsaken  spirit 
from  purgatory. 

Had  it  been  but  a  trick  of  his  imagination,  or  had  his  mortal 
eyes  seen  a  denizen  of  the  beyond?  At  last  he  aroused  him 
self,  trimmed  with  careful  hand  his  guiding  wick  and  set 
forth  to  penetrate  the  great  rift. 

He  moved  on  in  an  oblique  direction  for  several  feet,  now 
creeping  over  the  tops  of  the  foundation  arches,  now  skirting 
the  extremities  of  the  protrusions  in  the  ruined  brickwork, 
now  descending  into  dark,  slimy,  rubbish-choked  chasms, 
until  the  rift  suddenly  diminished  in  all  directions. 


A  MEETING  OF  GHOSTS          271 

For  a  moment  Tristan  paused  and  considered.  He  was 
almost  tempted  to  retrace  his  steps,  abandoning  the  purpose 
upon  which  he  had  come.  Before  him  stretched  interminable 
gloom,  brooding,  he  knew  not  over  what  caverns  and  caves, 
inhabited  by  denizens  of  night. 

He  moved  onward,  with  less  caution  than  he  had  formerly 
employed,  when  suddenly  and  without  warning  a  considerable 
portion  of  brickwork  fell  with  lightning  suddenness  from 
above.  It  missed  him,  else  he  should  never  had  known 
what  happened.  But  some  stray  bricks  hurled  him  prostrate 
on  the  foundation  arch,  dislocating  his  right  shoulder,  and 
shattering  his  lantern  into  atoms.  A  groan  of  anguish  rose 
to  his  lips.  He  was  left  in  impenetrable  darkness. 

For  a  short  time  Tristan  lay  as  one  stunned  in  his  dark 
solitude.  Then,  trying  to  raise  himself,  he  began  to  experi 
ence  in  all  their  severity  the  fierce  spasms,  the  dull  gnawings 
that  were  the  miserable  consequences  of  the  injury  he  had 
sustained.  His  arm  lay  numbed  by  his  side,  and  for  the 
space  of  some  moments  he  had  neither  the  strength  nor  the 
will  to  even  move  the  sound  limbs  of  his  body. 

But  gradually  the  anguish  of  his  body  awakened  a  wilder 
and  strange  distemper  in  his  mind,  and  then  the  two  agonies, 
physical  and  mental,  rioted  over  him  in  fierce  rivalry,  divesting 
him  of  all  thoughts,  save  such  as  were  aroused  by  their  own 
agency.  At  length,  however,  the  pangs  seemed  to  grow  less 
frequent.  He  hardly  knew  now  from  what  part  of  his  body 
they  proceeded.  Insensibly  his  faculties  of  thinking  and 
feeling  grew  blank ;  he  remained  for  a  time  in  a  mysterious, 
unrefreshing  repose  of  body  and  mind,  and  at  last  his  dis 
ordered  senses,  left  unguided  and  unrestrained,  became  the 
victims  of  a  sudden  and  terrible  illusion. 

The  black  darkness  about  him  appeared,  after  an  interval, 
to  be  dawning  into  a  dull,  misty  light,  like  the  reflection  on 
clouds  which  threaten  a  thunderstorm  at  the  close  of  day. 
Soon  this  atmosphere  seemed  to  be  crossed  and  streaked 


272   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

with  a  fantastic  trellis  work  of  white,  seething  vapor.  Then 
the  mass  of  brickwork  which  had  fallen  in,  grew  visible, 
enlarged  to  an  enormous  bulk  and  endowed  with  the  power 
of  locomotion,  by  which  it  mysteriously  swelled  and  shrank, 
raised  and  depressed  itself,  without  quitting  for  a  moment  its 
position  near  him.  And  then,  from  its  dark  and  toiling  sur 
face,  there  rose  a  long  array  of  dusky  shapes,  which  twined 
themselves  about  the  misty  trellis  work  above  and  took  the 
palpable  forms  of  human  countenances. 

There  were  infantile  faces  wreathed  with  grave  worms  that 
hung  round  them  like  locks  of  slimy  hair;  aged  faces  dabbled 
with  gore  and  slashed  with  wounds;  youthful  faces,  seamed 
with  livid  channels  along  which  ran  unceasing  tears;  lovely 
faces  distorted  into  the  fixed  coma  of  despairing  gloom.  Not 
one  of  these  countenances  exactly  resembled  the  other.  Each 
was  stigmatized  by  a  revolting  character  of  its  own.  Yet, 
however  deformed  their  other  features,  the  eyes  of  all  were 
preserved  unimpaired.  Speechless  and  bodiless  they  floated 
in  unceasing  myriads  up  to  the  fantastic  trellis  work,  which 
seemed  to  swell  its  wild  proportions  to  receive  them.  There 
they  clustered  in  their  goblin  amphitheatre,  and  fixedly  and 
silently  they  glared  down,  without  exception,  on  the  intruder's 
face. 

Meanwhile  the  walls  at  the  side  began  to  gleam  out  with  a 
light  of  their  own,  making  jaded  boundaries  to  the  midway 
scenes  of  phantom  faces.  Then  the  rifts  in  their  surface 
widened,  and  disgorged  misshapen  figures  of  priests  and 
idols  of  the  olden  time,  which  came  forth  in  every  hideous 
deformity  of  aspect,  mocking  at  the  faces  of  the  trellis  work, 
while  behind  and  over  the  whole  soared  shapes  of  gigantic 
darkness.  From  this  ghastly  assemblage  there  came  not  the 
slightest  sound.  The  stillness  of  a  dead  and  ruined  world 
was  about  him,  possessed  of  appalling  mysteries,  veiled  in 
quivering  vapors  and  glooming  shadows. 

Days,  years,  centuries  seemed  to  pass,  as  Tristan  lay 


A  MEETING  OF  GHOSTS  273 

gazing  up  in  a  trance  of  horror  into  this  realm  of  peopled  and 
ghostly  darkness. 

At  last  he  staggered  to  his  feet.  He  must  find  an  egress 
or  go  mad.  Slowly  raising  himself  upon  his  uninjured  arm, 
he  looked  vainly  about  for  the  faintest  glimmer  of  light.  Not 
a  single  object  was  discernible  about  him.  Darkness  hemmed 
him  in,  in  rayless  and  triumphant  obscurity. 

The  first  agony  of  the  pain  having  resolved  itself  into  a 
dull  changeless  sensation,  the  vision  that  had  possessed  his 
senses  was  now,  in  a  vast  and  shadowy  form,  present  only  to 
his  memory,  filling  the  darkness  with  fearful  recollections  and 
urging  him  on,  in  a  restless,  headlong  yearning,  to  effect  his 
escape  from  this  lonely  and  unhallowed  sepulchre. 

"  I  must  pass  into  light.  I  must  breathe  the  air  of  the  sky, 
or  I  shall  perish  in  this  vault,"  he  muttered  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
which  the  fitful  echoes  mocked  by  throwing  his  words  as  it 
were,  to  each  other,  even  to  the  faintest  whisper  of  its  last 
recipient. 

Gradually  and  painfully  he  commenced  his  meditated 
retreat. 

Tristan's  brain  still  whirled  with  the  emotion  that  had  so 
entirely  overwhelmed  his  mind,  as,  staggering  through  the 
interminable  gloom,  he  set  forth  on  his  toilsome,  perilous 
journey. 

Suddenly  however  he  paused,  bewildered,  hi  the  darkness. 
He  had  no  doubt  mistaken  the  direction,  and  a  gleam  of 
light,  streaming  through  the  fissure  of  the  rock,  informed  him 
that  there  were  others  in  this  abode  of  darkness,  beside  himself . 

Had  he  come  upon  the  object  of  his  quest? 

For  a  moment  Tristan's  heart  stood  still,  then,  with  all  the 
caution  which  the  darkness,  the  danger  of  secret  pitfalls  and 
the  risk  of  discovery  suggested,  he  crept  toward  the  crevice 
until  the  glow  gradually  increased.  From  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  as  it  were,  voices  were  now  audible;  they  seemed  to 
issue  from  the  depths  of  a  cavern  directly  below  where  Tris- 


274  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

tan  stood.  Groping  his  way  carefully  along  the  wall  of  rock, 
he  at  last  reached  the  spot  whence  the  light  issued  and  pres 
ently  started  at  rinding  himself  before  an  aperture  just  wide 
enough  to  admit  the  body  of  a  single  man.  A  sort  of  perpen 
dicular  ladder  was  formed  hi  the  wall  of  narrow  juttings  of 
stone,  and  below  these  was  the  rock  chamber  from  which  the 
voices  proceeded. 

It  was  some  time  ere  the  confusion  of  his  ideas  and  the 
darkness  allowed  Tristan  to  form  any  notion  of  the  character 
of  the  locality,  when  it  suddenly  dawned  upon  him  that  he  had 
strayed  into  a  place  regarding  which  he  had  heard  and  won 
dered  much:  the  Catacombs  of  St.  Calixtus. 

This  revelation  was  by  no  means  reassuring,  although  the 
presence  of  others  held  out  hope  that  he  would  discover  an 
exit  from  this  shadowy  labyrinth. 

For  a  moment  Tristan  remained  as  one  transfixed,  as  he 
gazed  from  his  lofty  pinnacle  into  the  shadowy  vault  below. 

He  saw  a  stone  table,  lighted  with  a  single  taper,  in  the 
centre  of  which  lay  an  unsheathed  dagger,  and  an  object  the 
exact  character  of  which  he  could  not  determine  in  the  half 
gloom,  also  a  brazen  bowl.  About  a  dozen  men  hi  cloaks 
with  black  vizors  stood  around,  and  one,  taller  than  the  rest, 
the  gleam  of  whose  eyes  shone  through  the  slits  of  his  mask, 
appeared  to  be  concluding  an  address  to  his  companions. 

The  words  were  indistinguishable  to  Tristan  but,  when  the 
speaker  had  concluded,  a  dark  murmur  arose  which  subsided 
anon.  Then  those  present  crowded  around  the  stone  table. 
The  taper  was  momentarily  obscured  by  the  intervening 
throng,  and  Tristan  could  not  see  the  ceremony,  though  he 
could  hear  the  muttered  formula  of  an  oath  they  seemed  to 
be  taking.  What  he  did  see  caused  the  chill  of  death  to  run 
through  his  veins. 

The  group  again  receding,  the  man  bared  his  left  arm, 
raised  the  dagger  on  high  and  let  it  descend.  Tristan  saw 
the  blood  weltering  slowly  from  the  self-inflicted  wound, 


A  MEETING  OF  GHOSTS          275 

trickling  drop  by  drop  into  the  brazen  bowl,  which  another 
muffled  figure  was  holding.  Then  each  one  present  repeated 
the  ceremony,  he  who  was  presenting  the  bowl  being  the  last 
to  mingle  his  blood  with  that  of  the  rest. 

Then  another  stepped  forth  and,  raising  the  bloody  knife 
on  high,  stabbed  the  object  that  lay  upon  the  table.  Some 
mysterious  signs  passed  between  them,  meaningless  words 
that  struck  Tristan's  ear  with 'the  vague  memory  of  a  dimly 
remembered  dream.  Then  he  who  seemed  to  be  the  speaker 
raised  the  object  on  high  and,  walking  to  a  niche,  concealed 
in  the  shadows,  placed  it  in,  what  seemed  to  Tristan,  a  fissure 
in  the  rock. 

Like  ghosts  returning  to  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  they 
glided  away,  silently,  soundlessly,  and  soon  the  silence  of 
death  hovered  once  again  in  the  rock  caverns  of  the  Catacombs 
of  St.  Calixtus. 

In  breathless  suspense,  utterly  oblivious  of  the  injury  he 
had  sustained,  Tristan  gazed  into  the  deserted  rock  chamber 
where  the  dim  light  of  the  taper  still  flickered  La  a  faint  breath 
of  air  wafted  from  without. 

Hardly  did  the  hearts  of  the  Magi  when  the  vision  of  the 
Star  hi  the  East  first  dawned  upon  their  eyes  experience  a 
transport  more  vivid  than  that  which  animated  Tristan  when 
he  found  his  terrible  stress  relieved. 

But  almost  immediately  a  reaction  set  in  and  a  dire  mis 
giving  extinguished  the  quick  ray  of  hope  that  had  lighted  his 
heart,  luring  him  on  to  escape  from  these  caverns  of  Death. 
By  a  strange  mischance  they  had  neglected  to  extinguish 
the  taper.  They  might  return  at  any  moment  and,  his  pres 
ence  discovered,  the  doom  in  store  for  the  intruder  on  their 
secret  rites  was  not  a  matter  of  surmise.  Composing  himself 
to  patience,  Tristan  waited,  glaring  as  a  caged  tiger  at  the 
gates  whose  opening  or  closing  might  spell  freedom  or  doom. 
At  last,  after  a  considerable  lapse  of  time,  moments  that 
seemed  eternity,  he  resolved  to  hazard  the  descent. 


276   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Slowly  and  painfully  moving,  with  the  pace  and  persever 
ance  of  a  turtle,  he  writhed  downward  upon  his  unguided 
course  until  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  cavern.  Breathless 
with  exhaustion  after  his  breakneck  descent,  he  waited  in 
the  shadow  of  a  projecting  rock.  When  the  deep  sepulchral 
silence  remained  undisturbed,  he  advanced  toward  the  fissure 
hi  the  rock  where  one  of  the  muffled  company  had  placed  the 
mysterious  object. 

Tristan's  quest  was  not  at  once  rewarded.  The  shelving 
in  the  rock  cavern,  being  irregular  and  almost  indistinguish 
able,  offered  no  clue  to  the  mystery.  A  great  fear  was  upon 
him,  but  he  was  determined,  to  discover  the  meaning  of  it  all. 

Suddenly  he  paused.  A  small  cabinet  of  sandal  wood, 
concealed  behind  the  jutting  stone,  had  caught  his  eye.  It 
was  painted  to  resemble  the  rock  and  the  untrained  eye  would 
not  linger  upon  it.  A  small  keyhole  was  revealed,  but  the 
key  had  been  taken  away. 

Tristan  stood  irresolute,  with  straining  eyes  and  listening 
ear.  Not  a  sound  was  audible.  Even  the  piping  of  the  night 
wind  in  the  rock  fissures  seemed  to  have  died  to  silence. 
With  quick  resolution  he  inserted  one  of  the  sharp-edged 
flints  and  gave  a  wrench. 

When  the  top  receded  he  could  not  repress  an  outcry.  A 
chill  coursed  coldly  through  his  veins.  His  breath  came  and 
went  in  sobs,  as  from  one  half  drowned. 

He  only  glanced  at  what  was  before  him  for  the  fraction  of 
a  second.  But  he  knew  what  had  made  the  very  soul  within 
him  shudder  and  his  bones  grind,  as  if  in  mortal  agony. 

It  was  as  though  Hell  itself  had  opened  the  gates.  He 
staggered  back  in  a  paroxysm  of  horror.  — 

With  a  grim,  set  face  Tristan  closed  the  top  of  the  cabinet 
and  replaced  it  on  the  rocky  ledge.  Thus  he  stood,  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands.  Could  the  All-seeing  God  permit  such 
an  outrage  and  let  the  perpetrators  live? 

But  there  was  no  time  for  reflection.    At  any  moment  one 


A  MEETING  OF  GHOSTS          277 

of  the  muffled  phantoms  might  return,  and  indeed  he  thought 
he  heard  steps  approaching  through  one  of  the  rock  galleries. 
He  crouched  in  breathless,  agonized  suspense,  for  it  did  not 
suffer  him  longer  in  these  caverns  of  crime  and  death. 

He  dimly  remembered  the  direction  in  which  the  nocturnal 
company  had  departed  and,  after  some  research,  he  discovered 
a  narrow  corridor  that  seemed  to  slope  upward  through  the 
gloom.  His  lantern  having  been  broken  to  atoms,  the  taper 
held  out  little  promise  of  life  beyond  a  brief  space  of  tune 
during  which  he  must  find  the  entrance  of  the  cavern,  if  he 
did  not  wish  to  meet  a  fate  even  worse  than  death  in  the 
event  of  discovery. 

Grimly  resolved  Tristan  raised  the  flickering  taper  and 
entered  the  gallery  on  his  left.  The  Stygian  gloom  almost 
extinguished  the  feeble  light,  though  he  noted  every  object  he 
passed,  every  turn  in  the  tortuous  ascent. 

After  some  time  which  seemed  eternity  he  at  last  perceived 
a  dim  glow  at  the  extremity  of  the  gallery,  and  soon  found 
himself  before  the  outer  cavity  of  the  stone  wall,  in  a  region 
of  the  city  that  seemed  miles  removed  from  the  place  where 
he  had  entered. 

It  was  near  daybreak.  The  moon  shone  faintly  hi  the 
grey  heavens  and  a  vaporous  mist  was  sinking  from  shapeless 
clouds  that  hovered  over  the  course  of  the  Tiber. 

Tristan  looked  about  his  solitary  lurking  place,  but  beheld 
no  human  being  in  its  lonely  recesses.  Then  his  eyes  fixed 
themselves  with  a  shudder  upon  the  glooming  vault  from 
which  he  had  made  his  escape. 

He  was  on  the  track  of  a  terrible  mystery,  a  mystery  which 
shunned  the  light  of  day  and  of  heaven.  He  must  fathom  it, 
whatever  the  risk.  A  strange  new  energy  possessed  him. 
His  life  at  last  seemed  to  have  a  purpose.  He  was  no  longer 
a  rolling  stone.  There  was  work  ahead.  His  future  course 
stood  out  clearly  defined,  as  Tristan  turned  his  back  upon 
the  Catacombs  of  St.  Calixtus  and  took  the  direction  of  the 


278  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Aventine.  To  Odo,  the  Monk  of  Cluny,  he  must  confide  the 
terrible  discovery  he  had  made  in  the  mephitic  caverns  of  the 
Catacombs.  To  him  he  must  turn  for  counsel,  of  which  he 
stood  sorely  in  need.  And  in  some  way  which  he  could  not 
account  for  to  himself,  Tristan  felt  as  if  the  fate  of  Hellayne 
was  bound  up  in  these  dreadful  mysteries.  At  first  the 
thought  seemed  absurd,  but  somehow  it  gamed  upon  him 
and  began  to  add  new  weight  to  his  burden.  Could  he  but 
see  her !  Could  he  but  have  speech  with  her.  A  great  dread 
seized  him  at  the  thought  of  what  might  be  her  fate  at  the 
present  hour.  What  would  she  think  of  him  who  seemed  to 
have  abandoned  her  hi  the  hour  of  dire  distress,  when  she 
needed  him  above  all  men  on  earth? 

Did  her  intuition,  did  her  heart  inform  her  that  he  had 
roamed  the  city  for  days  hi  the  hope  of  finding  her?  Had 
her  heart  informed  her  that,  like  a  spirit  judged  and  con 
demned,  he  found  neither  rest  nor  peace  in  his  vain  endeavors 
to  discover  her  abode?  Was  she  sulking  under  her  loneli 
ness,  perishing  from  uncertainty  of  her  fate,  doubts  of  his 
allegiance?  To  what  perils  and  miseries  had  he  exposed  her, 
and  to  what  end?  He  groaned  in  despair,  as  his  mind 
reverted  from  the  dark  present  to  the  happy  past.  A  past, 
forever  gone !  — 

A  fault  streak  of  light  crept  across  the  East,  permeating 
the  grey  dawn  with  roseate  hues  as  Tristan  re-entered  the 
Emperor's  Tomb  to  partake  of  an  hour  or  two  of  much  needed 
rest,  ere  the  business  of  the  new-born  day  claimed  him  its  own. 


CHAPTER  VII 


A    BOWER    OF    EDEN 


FTER  some  hours  of  much 
needed  rest  Tristan  started  out 
to  find  the  Monk  of  Cluny.  The 
task  he  had  set  himself  was  not 
one  easy  of  execution,  since  the 
Benedictine  friar  was  wont  to 
visit  the  Roman  sanctuaries 
following  the  promptings  of  the 
spirit  without  adhering  to  a 
definite  routine.  Thus  the 
greater  part  of  the  day  was  consumed  in  a  futile  quest  of  him 
of  whose  counsel  he  stood  sorely  hi  need. 

At  the  hour  of  sunset  Tristan  set  anew  upon  his  quest. 
His  feet  carried  him  to  a  remote  region  of  the  city,  and  when 
he  regained  his  bearings  he  found  himself  before  the  convent 
of  Santa  Maria  del  Priorata  with  its  environing  groves  of 
oleander  and  almond  trees. 

The  moon  was  floating  like  a  huge  pearl  of  silver  through 
vast  seas  of  blue.  The  sleeping  flowers  were  closed,  like 
half-extinguished  censers,  breathing  faint  incense  on  the 
night's  pale  brow.  From  some  dark  bough  a  nightingale 
was  shaking  down  a  flood  of  song.  The  fountains  from  their 
stone  basins  leaped  moonward  in  the  passion  of  their  love 
and  seemed  to  fall  sobbing  back  to  earth.  The  night  air 
breathed  hot  and  languorous  across  the  gardens  of  the  Pin- 
cian  Mount.  Lutes  tinkled  here  and  there.  And  the  magic 
of  the  night  thrilled  Tristan's  soul.  As  in  a  trance  his  gaze 


280  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

followed  the  white  figure  that  was  moving  noiselessly  down  a 
moss  grown  path.  A  thick  hedge  of  laurel  concealed  her  now. 
Then  she  paused  as  if  she,  too,  were  enraptured  by  the  magic 
of  the  night. 

The  moon  illumined  the  central  lawn  and  the  whispering 
fountains.  Tall  cypresses  seemed  to  intensify  the  shade. 
In  the  distance  he  could  faintly  discern  the  white  balustrade, 
crowning  a  terrace  where  green  alleys  wound  obscurely 
beneath  the  canopy  of  darkest  oak,  and  moss  and  violet  made 
their  softest  bed.  In  the  very  centre  of  it  was  a  small  domed 
temple,  a  shrine  to  Love. 

Tristan's  senses  began  to  swoon.  Was  it  a  hallucination — 
was  it  reality?  A  moon  maiden  she  seemed,  made  mortal 
for  a  night,  to  teach  all  comers  love  in  the  sacred  grove. 

"Hellayne!    Hellayne!" 

His  voice  sounded  strange  to  his  own  ears. 

As  in  a  dream  he  saw  her  come  towards  him.  She  came 
so  silent  and  so  pale  in  the  spectral  light  that  he  feared  lest 
it  was  the  spectre  of  his  mind  that  came  to  meet  him.  And 
once  more  the  voice  cried  "  Hellayne ! "  and  then  they  lay 
in  each  other's  arms.  All  her  reluctance,  all  her  doubts  seemed 
to  have  flown  at  the  sound  of  her  name  from  his  lips. 

"  Hellayne !  Hellayne !  "  he  whispered  deliriously,  kissing 
her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  sweet  lips,  and  folding  her  so  close  to 
him,  as  if  he  would  never  again  part  from  her  he  loved  better 
than  life.  "  At  last  I  have  found  you !  How  came  you  here? 
Speak!  Is  it  indeed  yourself,  or  is  it  some  mocking  spirit 
that  has  borrowed  your  form?  " 

And  again  he  kissed  her  and  their  eyes  held  silent  commune. 

"  It  is  I  who  have  just  refound  you !  "  she  whispered,  as  he 
looked  enraptured  into  the  sweet  girlish  face,  the  face  that 
had  not  changed  since  he  had  left  Avalon,  though  she  seemed 
to  have  become  more  womanly,  and  in  her  eyes  lay  a  pathetic 
sorrow. 

What  a  rapture  there  was  in  that  clear  tone.    But  she 


A  BOWER  OF  EDEN  281 

trembled  as  she  spoke.  Would  he  understand?  Would  he 
believe? 

"  But  —  why  —  why  —  are  you  here?  "  he  stammered. 

"  I  have  sought  you  long." 

"  You  have  followed  me?     You  are  not  then  a  nun?  " 

"  You  see  I  am  not." 

"  But  why  —  oh  why,  —  have  you  done  this  thing?  " 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  You  are  here  in  Rome  —  and  he  is  here.  And  you  did 
not  know?  " 

"  I  knew! "  she  replied  with  a  little  nod,  like  a  questioned 
child. 

"  You  knew !    And  he  believes  that  I  knew !  " 

"  That  is  a  small  matter,  dear.  For  he  knows,  that  you 
knew  not." 

The  endearment  startled  him.  It  seemed  to  cast  her  faith 
upon  him. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  he  said. 

"  I  came  because  I  had  to  come  !    I  had  no  choice  — !  " 

"  No  choice !    Then  why  did  you  send  me  away?  " 

She  gave  a  little  shrug. 

"  I  knew  not  how  much  I  loved  you." 

"  And  yet,  dearest,  you  cannot  remain  here.  You  know 
his  moods  better  than  any  one  else  —  and  you  know  if  he 
finds  us  —  for  your  own  sake,  dearest,  you  cannot  remain." 

In  the  warmth  of  his  entreaty  he  had  used  as  endearing 
words  as  she.  They  were  precious  to  her  ears. 

"  Let  him  come !  "  she  said,  nestling  close  to  him.  "  Let 
him  come  and  kill  me !  " 

She  glanced  about.  He  pointed  to  the  castellated  building 
that  rose  darkly  beyond  the  holm-oaks. 

"  Yonder  —  is  yonder  your  abode?  "  he  stammered. 

Suddenly  the  woman  in  her  gained  the  mastery. 

"  Oh  no!  No!  No!  Let  us  hide  !  Wretch  that  I  am,  to 
risk  your  life  with  mine." 


282   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

She  had  flung  herself  upon  him.  Around  them  rioted 
roses  in  wild  profusion.  To  him  it  seemed  like  a  bosquet  of 
Eden.  Upon  his  breast  she  sobbed.  But  no  consideration  of 
past  or  present  could  restrain  his  hand  from  gently  soothing 
her  silken  hair. 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  leave  me?  "  she  cried.  "  Why  could  we 
not  have  loved  without  all  this?  Surely  two  souls  can  love  — 
if  love  they  must  —  without  doing  wrong  to  any  one." 

His  arms  stole  about  her. 

"Speak  to  me!  Speak  to  me!"  she  whispered  with 
upturned  face. 

"  Had  I  known  that  this  would  happen,  I  should  have 
known  that  I  did  foolishly,"  he  replied.  "  You  should  have 
known,  dearest.  You  thought  to  kill  our  love  by  cutting  it 
to  earth.  You  have  but  made  its  roots  grow  deeper  down 
into  the  present  and  the  future !  " 

She  nodded  dreamily. 

"  Perchance  you  speak  truth ! "  she  said.  "  You  see  me 
here  by  your  side,  having  crossed  leagues  and  leagues  to  seek 
your  soul,  my  home  —  my  only  home  forever.  And  as  surely 
as  the  bee  goes  back  to  its  one  hallowed  oak  have  I  refound 
you.  And  as  surely  as  the  ocean  knows  that  every  breath  of 
vapor  lifted  from  its  face  shall  some  day  come  back  to  its  breast, 
so  surely  did  you  know  that  your  love  must  return  to  you." 

"  Unless,"  he  said,  "  it  sinks  into  the  unseen  springs  that 
are  so  deep  that  they  are  lost  from  sight  forever." 

"  Lost  —  nothing  is  lost.  The  deepest  water  shall  break 
out  some  day  and  reach  the  lake  —the  river.  Then,  why 
not  now?  I  am  one  who  cannot  wait  for  eternity." 

"  And  yet,  eternity  I  fear,  is  waiting  for  us!  " 

There  was  a  deep  silence,  lasting  apace. 

"  Ah,  I  know,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  know  I  ought  to  think 
as  you  do.  I  should  be  conscience  stricken  now,  as  I  was  then. 
I  should  be  glad  that  you  left  me.  But  I  am  not  —  I  am  not. 
I  am  here,  dearest,  to  ask  you  if  you  love  me  still?  "  — 


A  BOWER  OF  EDEN  283 

"Love  you?  "  he  replied  in  a  transport,  holding  her  close, 
while  he  covered  her  eyes  and  her  upturned  face  with  kisses. 
"  I  love  you  as  never  woman  was  loved—  as  the  night  loves 
the  dew  in  the  cups  of  the  upturned  flowers  —  as  the  night 
ingale  loves  the  dream  that  weaves  its  phantom  webs 
about  her  bowers.  I  love  you  above  everything  in  heaven 
or  on  earth.  You  knew  the  answer,  dearest.  Why  did  you 
ask?  " 

"  I  see  it  in  your  eyes.  You  love  me  still,"  she  crooned, 
her  beautiful  white  arms  about  his  neck,  "notwithstanding—" 

He  started.  And  yeti  after  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  on 
that  night,  her  doubts  were  but  too  well-founded.  Yet  she 
had  not  queried  before. 

"  Strange  fortunes  crossed  my  path  since  I  came  here," 
he  said.  "  Ambition  lured  —  I  followed,  as  one  who  lost  his 
way.  Would  you  have  had  me  do  otherwise?  " 

In  his  eyes  she  read  the  truth.  Yet  the  shadow  of  that 
other  woman  had  come  between  them  as  a  phantom. 

"  Oh,  no,  —  although  I  never  thought  that  you  were  made 
for  statecraft." 

"  I  am  in  the  service  of  the  Senator.  And  the  Senator  of 
Rome  is  her  foe." 

"  And  you?  " 

"  I  am  his  servant." 

She  laughed  nervously. 

"  I  never  thought  you  would  come  to  this,  my  love." 

"  Nor  ever  should  I  have  thought  so.  But  fate  is  strange. 
The  Holy  Father  is  imprisoned  in  the  Lateran.  To  him  I 
wended  my  way.  But  the  only  service  I  did  him  was  to 
prevent  his  escape  —  unwittingly.  I  visited  the  sanctuaries. 
But  though  prayers  hovered  on  my  lips,  repentance  was  not 
in  my  heart.  And  then  it  came  to  pass.  And  I  feel  like  one 
borne  in  a  bark  that  has  neither  sail  nor  rudder.  And  if, 
instead  of  being  far-floated  to  these  Roman  shores,  I  am 
headed  for  a  port  where  all  is  security  and  peace,  can  I  prevent 


284  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

it?  I  am  borne  on!  I  close  my  eyes  and  try  to  think  that 
Fate  has  intended  it  for  my  good." 

"  For  your  good!  "  she  said  bitterly. 

"  For  yours  no  less,  perchance." 

"  How  so,  dearest?  What  good  can  come  to  me  from 
your  soul's  security?  To  me,  who  believe  our  love  is  right 
ful?  " 

"  And  yet  you  sent  me  from  you  —  into  darkness  —  lone 
liness  —  despair?" 

She  stroked  his  hair. 

"  It  was  fear  as  well  as  conscience  that  prompted.  You 
once  said  that  all  things  are  right,  that  may  not  be  escaped. 
You  said,  that  if  God  was  at  the  back  of  all  things,  all  things 
were  pure  —  " 

"  I  know  I  said  it !  But,  what  I  meant,!  know  not  now.  I 
saw  things  strangely  then." 

"  There  were  days  when  I,  too,  lost  my  vision,"  she  said 
softly,  "  when  I  said  to  myself :  there  is  truth  and  truth  — 
the  higher  and  the  lower.  It  was  the  higher,  if  you  like  to 
call  it  so,  Tristan,  that  prompted  the  deed.  Since  then  I  have 
come  down  to  earth,  and  the  lower  truth,  more  fit  for  beings 
of  clay,  proclaims  my  presence  here  —  " 

"  What  will  you  do?  "  he  queried  anxiously. 

"  I  know  not  —  I  know  not !  I  came  here  to  be  with  you  — 
without  ever  a  thought  of  meeting  him  again  whom  I  have 
wronged  —  if  wronged  indeed  I  have.  He  has  vowed  to  kill 
you !  Oh,  to  what  a  pass  have  I  brought  you  —  my  love  — 
my  love !  Let  us  fly  from  Rome  !  Let  us  leave  this  city. 
He  will  never  know.  And  as  for  me  —he  but  loves  me 
because  I  am  fair  to  look  upon,  and  lovable  in  the  eyes  of 
another.  What  I  have  suffered  in  the  silence,  hi  the  darkness, 
you  will  never  know.  You  shall  take  me  with  you  —  any 
where  will  I  go  —  so  we  shake  the  dust  of  this  city  from  our 
feet."' 

She  leapt  at  him  again  and  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck, 


A  BOWER  OF  EDEN  285 

her  face  upturned.  He  had  neither  will  nor  power  to  release 
himself.  He  scarcely  had  the  strength  to  speak  the  words 
which  he  knew  would  stab  her  to  the  heart. 

Even  ere  he  spoke  she  fell  away  from  him  as  if  she  had 
read  his  mind. 

"  So  you  persuaded  him  of  your  repentance,"  she  cried. 
"  You  are  friends  over  the  body  of  your  murdered  love !  And 
I  —  who  gave  all  —  am  left  alone,  —  the  foe  of  either.  It 
was  nobly  done." 

He  stared  at  her  as  if  he  thought  she  had  gone  mad. 

"  Listen,  Hellayne,"  he  urged,  taking  her  hands  in  his,  in 
the  endeavor  to  soothe  her.  "  What  spirit  of  evil  has  whis 
pered  this  madness  into  your  ears?  Even  just  now  you 
said,  he  has  sworn  to  kill  me.  How  could  there  be  recon 
ciliation  between  Roger  de  Laval  and  myself  —  who  love  his 
wife?" 

"  Then  what  is  it?  "  she  queried,  her  eyes  upon  his  lips  as 
if  she  were  waiting  sentence  to  be  pronounced  upon  her. 

"  I  am  the  Senator's  man !  " 

The  words  fell  upon  her  ears  like  the  knell  of  doom. 

"  He  will  release  you !  I  will  go  to  him  —  if  your  pride  is 
greater,  than  your  love." 

She  was  all  woman  now,  deaf  to  reason  and  entreaty, 
thinking  of  nothing  but  her  great  love  of  him. 

He  drew  her  down  beside  him  on  the  marble  seat. 

"  Listen,  Hellayne  !  You  do  not  understand  —  you  wrong 
me  cruelly.  Naught  is  there  in  this  world  that  I  would  not 
do  to  make  you  happy  —  you,  whose  love  and  happiness  are 
my  one  concern  while  life  endures.  But  this  thing  may  not 
be.  The  Senator  of  Rome  is  away  on  a  pilgrimage.  He  has 
chosen  me  to  watch  over  this  city  till  his  return.  Danger 
lurks  about  me  in  every  guise.  Its  nature  I  know  not.  But 
I  do  know  that  there  is  some  dark  power  at  work  plotting  evil. 
There  is  one  I  do  not  trust  —  the  Lord  Basil." 

Hellayne  gave  a  start. 


286  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  The  bosom  friend,  so  it  would  seem,  of  the  Count  Laval." 

The  color  had  left  Tristan's  face. 

"  You  have  met?  " 

"  He  appears  to  have  taken  a  great  liking  to  my  lord. 
Almost  daily  does  he  call,  and  they  seem  to  have  some  secret 
matter  between  them." 

Tristan  gripped  Hellayne's  hand  so  fiercely  that  she  hardly 
suppressed  an  outcry. 

"  Have  you  surprised  any  utterance?  " 

"  Only  a  name.    They  thought  I  was  out  of  earshot." 

"  What  name?  " 

"Theodora!" 

She  watched  him  narrowly  as  she  spoke  the  word. 

He  gave  a  start. 

"  Theodora,"  Hellayne  repeated  slowly.  "  She  who  saved 
your  life  when  my  poor  efforts  failed." 

There  was  a  tinge  of  bitterness  hi  her  tone  which  did  not 
escape  Tristan's  ear.  Ere  he  could  make  reply,  she  followed 
it  up  with  the  question: 

"  What  is  there  between  you  and  her?  " 

"  For  aught  I  know  it  is  some  strange  whim  of  the  woman, 
call  it  infatuation  if  you  will,"  he  replied,  "  which,  though  I 
have  repelled  her,  still  maintains.  It  was  at  her  feast  I  first 
met  the  Lord  Roger  face  to  face." 

"  How  came  you  there?  "  she  questioned  with  pained  voice. 

Tristan  recounted  the  circumstances,  concealing  nothing 
from  the  time  of  his  arrival  in  Rome  to  the  present  hour. 
Hellayne  listened  wearily,  but  the  account  he  gave  seemed 
rather  to  irritate  than  to  reconcile  her  to  him,  who  thus  laid 
bare  his  heart  before  her. 

"  And  so  soon  was  I  forgot?  "  she  crooned. 

"  Never  for  a  moment  were  you  forgot,  my  Hellayne,"  he 
replied  with  all  the  fervor  of  persuasion  at  his  command. 
"  At  all  times  have  I  loved  you,  at  all  times  was  your  image 
enshrined  in  my  heart.  Theodora  is  all-powerful  in  Rome, 


A  BOWER  OF  EDEN  287 

as  was  Marozia  before  her.  The  magistrates,  the  officers  of 
the  Senator's  court,  are  her  creatures,  —  Basil  no  less  than 
the  rest.  Would  that  the  Lord  Alberic  returned,  for  the 
burden  he  has  placed  upon  my  shoulders  is  exceeding  heavy. 
But  you,  my  Hellayne,  what  will  you  do?  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  of  knowing  you  with  him  who  has  wrecked  your  life, 
your  happiness." 

In  Hellayne's  blue  eyes  there  was  a  great  pain. 

"  Why  mind  such  trifles  since  you  but  think  of  yourself?  " 

"You  do  not  understand!"  he  protested.  "Can  I  with 
honor  abandon  the  trust  which  the  Senator  has  imposed? 
What  if  the  dreadful  thing  should  happen?  What  if  sudden 
sedition  should  sweep  his  power  into  the  night  of  oblivion? 
Could  I  stand  face  to  face  with  him,  should  he  ask:  'How 
have  you  kept  your  trust? '  " 

Steps  were  approaching  on  the  greensward. 

Hellayne  turned  pale  and  Tristan's  arm  closed  about  her, 
determined  to  defend  her  to  the  death  against  whosoever 
should  dare  intrude. 

Then  it  was  as  if  some  impalpable  barrier  had  arisen 
between  the  man  and  the  woman.  It  seemed  the  last  hard 
malice  of  Fate  to  have  brought  them  so  near  to  what  was  not 
to  be. 

Hardly  had  Tristan  drawn  her  throbbing  bosom  to  his 
embrace  when  a  dark  shadow  fell  athwart  their  path  and, 
looking  up,  he  became  aware  of  a  forbidding  form  that  stood 
hard  by,  wrapped  in  a  black  mantle  that  reached  to  his  heels. 
From  under  a  hood  which  was  drawn  over  his  face  two  beady 
eyes  gleamed  with  smouldering  fire,  while  the  hooked  nose 
gave  the  face  the  semblance  of  a  bird  of  prey,  which  illusion 
the  cruel  mouth  did  little  to  dispel. 

Hellayne,  too,  had  seen  this  phantom  of  ill  omen  and  was 
about  to  release  herself  from  Tristan's  arms,  her  face  white 
as  her  robe,  when  the  speech  of  the  intruder  arrested  her 
movement. 


288  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  A  message  from  the  Lady  Theodora." 

A  hot  flush  passed  over  Tristan's  face,  giving  way  to  a 
deadly  pallor  as,  hesitating  to  take  the  proffered  tablet,  he 
replied  with  ill-concealed  vexation : 

"  Whom  does  the  Lady  Theodora  honor  by  sending  so  ill- 
favored  a  messenger?  " 

The  cowled  figure  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  first  upon  Tristan 
then  upon  Hellayne. 

"  The  Lord  Tristan  will  do  well  to  pay  heed  to  the  summons, 
if  he  values  that  which  lies  nearest  his  heart." 

But  ere  he,  for  whom  the  message  was  intended,  could  take 
it,  Hellayne  had  snatched  it  from  the  messenger,  had  broken 
the  seal  and  devoured  its  contents  by  the  light  of  the  moon 
which  made  the  night  as  bright  as  day. 

Then,  with  a  shrill  laugh,  she  cast  it  at  Tristan's  feet  and, 
ere  the  latter  could  recover  himself,  both  the  woman  and  the 
messenger  had  gone  and  he  stood  alone  in  the  bosquet  of 
roses,  vainly  calling  the  name  of  her  who  had  left  him  without 
a  word  to  his  misery  and  despair. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


AN    ITALIAN   NIGHT 


HE  palace  of  Theodora  on 
Mount  Aventine  was  aglow  with 
life  and  movement  for  the  fes 
tivities  of  the  evening.  The 
lights  of  countless  cressets  were 
reflected  from  the  marble  floor 
of  the  great  reception  hall  and 
shone  on  the  rich  panelling,  and 
the  many-hued  tapestries  which 
decked  the  walls. 
In  the  shadow  of  the  little  marble  kiosk  which  rose,  a  relic 
of  a  happier  age,  among  oleander  and  myrtles,  shadowed  by 
tall  cypresses,  silent  guardians  of  the  past,  Theodora  and  Basil 
faced  each  other.  The  white,  livid  face  of  the  man  gave  testi 
mony  to  the  passions  that  consumed  him,  as  his  burning  gaze 
swept  the  woman  before  him. 

"  I  have  spoken,  my  Lord  Basil!  Should  some  unforeseen 
mischance  befall  him  I  have  summoned  hither,  look  to  it 
that  I  require  not  his  blood  at  your  hands." 

Theodora's  tone  silenced  all  further  questioning.  After  a 
pause  she  continued:  "  And  if  you  desire  farther  proof  that 
this  man  shall  not  stand  against  my  enchantments,  pass  into 
yonder  kiosk  and  through  its  carven  windows  shall  you  be 
able  to  witness  all  that  passes  between  us." 

She  ceased  with  quivering  lips,  the  while  Basil  regarded 
her  from  under  half-shut  lids,  filled  with  sudden  brooding, 
and  for  a  space  there  was  silence.  At  last  he  said  in  a  low, 
unsteady  voice : 

"  So  I  did  not  err  when  my  hatred  rose  against  this  puppet 


290  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

of  the  Senator's,  who  came  to  Rome  to  do  penance  for  a  kiss. 
You  love  him,  your  foe,  while  I,  your  utter  slave,  must  stand 
by  and,  with  aching  heart,  see  your  mad  desire  bring  all  our 
schemes  to  naught." 

His  hand  closed  on  his  dagger  hilt,  but  Theodora's  eyes 
flashed  like  bared  swords  as  with  set  face  she  said : 

"  Fool!  — to  see  but  that  which  lies  in  your  path,  not  the 
intricate  nets  which  are  spread  in  the  darkness.  I  mean  to 
make  this  man  my  very  own!  His  fevered  lips  shall  close  on 
mine,  and  in  my  embrace  he  shall  climb  to  the  heaven  of  the 
Gods.  He  shall  be  mine!  He  shall  do  my  bidding  utterly. 
He  shall  open  for  me  the  gates  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb.  He 
shall  stand  beside  me  when  I  am  proclaimed  mistress  of 
Rome !  For  my  love  he  shall  defy  the  world  that  is  —  and 
the  world  that  is  not." 

"  And  what  of  the  woman  he  loves?  "  Basil  snarled  veno 
mously,  and  the  pallor  of  Theodora's  face  informed  him  that 
the  arrow  he  had  sped  had  hit  the  mark. 

She  held  out  her  wonderful  statuesque  arms,  then,  raising 
herself  to  her  full  height,  she  said : 

"  Is  the  pale  woman  from  his  native  land  a  match  for  me? 
What  rare  sport  it  shall  be  to  make  of  this  Hellayne  a  mock, 
and  of  her  name  a  memory,  and  put  Theodora's  in  its  high 
place.  Do  you  doubt  my  power  to  do  as  I  say?  " 

"  Verily  I  do  believe  that  you  love  this  pilgrim,"  Basil  said 
sullenly.  "  And  while  I  am  preparing  the  quake  that  shall 
tumble  Alberic's  dominion  into  dust  and  oblivion,  you  are 
making  him  the  happiest  of  mortals.  And  deem  you  I  will 
stand  by  and  see  yon  dotard  reap  the  fruits  of  my  endeavors 
and  revel  where  I,  your  slave,  am  starving  for  a  look?  " 

"  Well  have  you  chosen  the  word,  my  lord  —  my  slave! 
For  then  were  Theodora  indeed  the  puppet  of  a  lust-bitten 
subject  did  she  heed  his  mad  ravings  and  his  idle  plaints. 
Know,  my  lord,  that  my  love  is  his  to  whom  I  choose  to  give 
it,  his  who  gives  to  me  that  in  return  which  I  desire.  And 


AN  ITALIAN  NIGHT  291 

though  I  have  drunk  deep  of  the  goblet  of  passion,  never  has 
my  heart  beat  one  jot  the  faster,  nor  has  the  fire  in  my  soul 
been  kindled  until  I  met  him  whom  this  night  I  have  sum 
moned." 

"  And  deem  you,  fairest  Theodora,  that  the  sainted  pilgrim 
will  come?  "  Basil  interposed  with  an  evil  leer. 

An  inscrutable  smile  curved  Theodora's  crimson  lips. 

"  Let  that  be  my  affair,  my  lord,  but  —  that  everything  may 
be  clear  between  us  —  know  this :  when  I  summoned  him, 
after  he  had  spurned  me  on  the  night  when  I  intended  to  make 
him  the  happiest  of  men,  it  was  to  torture  him,  to  make  a 
mock  of  him,  to  arouse  his  passions  till  they  overmastered 
all  else,  till  in  very  truth  he  forgot  his  God,  his  honor,  and  the 
woman  for  whose  kisses  he  does  such  noble  penance  —  but 
now  —  " 

"  But  now?  "  came  the  echo  from  Basil's  lips. 

"  Who  says  I  shall  not?  "  Theodora  replied  with  her  inscru 
table  smile.  "  Who  shall  gainsay  me?  You  —  my  lord?  " 

There  was  a  strange  light  in  Basil's  eyes,  kindled  by  her 
mockery. 

"  And  when  he  kneels  at  your  feet,  drunk  with  passion  - 
laying  bare  his  soul  in  his  mad  infatuation  —  who  shall  pre 
vent  this  dagger  from  drinking  his  heart's  blood,  even  as  he 
peers  into  the  portals  of  bliss?  " 

Theodora's  eyes  flashed  lightnings. 

"  I  shall  kill  you  with  my  own  hands,  if  you  but  dare  but 
touch  one  hair  of  his  head,"  she  said  with  a  calm  that  was 
more  terrible  than  any  outburst  of  rage  would  have  been. 
"  He  is  mine,  to  do  with  as  I  choose,  and  look  well  to  it,  my 
lord,  that  your  shadow  darken  not  the  path  between  us.  - 
Else  I  shall  demand  of  you  such  a  reckoning  as  none  who 
may  hear  of  it  in  after  days  shall  dare  thwart  Theodora  - 
either  in  love  or  in  hate." 

Basil's  writhing  form  swayed  to  and  fro;  passion-tossed  he 
tried  in  vain  to  speak  when  she  raised  her  hand. 


292   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

With  a  gesture  of  baffled  wrath  and  rage  Basil  bowed  low. 
A  sudden  light  leaped  into  his  eyes  as  he  raised  her  hand  to 
his  lips.  Then  he  retreated  into  the  shadow  of  the  kiosk. 

A  moment  later  Tristan  came  within  view,  walking  as  one 
in  a  trance.  Mechanically  he  passed  towards  the  banquet 
hall.  Then  he  paused,  seeming  to  wait  for  some  signal  from 
within. 

A  hand  stole  into  his  and  drew  him  resistlessly  into  the 
shadows. 

"  Why  do  you  linger  here?  Behold  where  the  moonlight 
calls." 

"  Where  is  your  mistress?  "  Tristan  turned  to  the  Circassian. 

A  strange  smile  played  on  Persephone's  lips. 

"  She  awaits  you  in  yonder  kiosk,"  she  replied,  edging 
close  to  him.     "  Take  care  you  do  not  thwart  her  though  - 
for  to-day  she  strikes  to  kill." 

"  It  is  well,"  Tristan  replied.  "  It  must  come,  and  will  be 
no  more  torture  now  than  any  other  time." 

Persephone  gave  a  strange  smile,  then  she  led  him  through 
a  cypress  avenue,  at  the  remote  end  of  which  the  marble 
kiosk  gleamed  white  in  the  moonlight. 

Pointing  to  it  with  white  outstretched  arm  she  gave  him  a 
mock  bow  and  returned  to  the  palace. 

His  lips  grimly  set,  Tristan,  insensible  to  the  beauty  of  the 
summer  night,  strode  down  the  flower-bordered  path.  Woven 
sheets  of  silvery  moonlight,  insubstantial  and  unreal,  lay 
upon  the  greensward.  The  sounds  of  distant  lutes  and  harps 
sank  down  through  the  hot  air.  The  sky  was  radiant  with 
the  magic  lustre  of  a  great  white  moon,  suspended  like  an 
alabaster  lamp  in  the  deep  azure  overhead.  Her  rays  invaded 
the  sombre  bosquets,  lighted  the  trellised  rose-walks  and  cast 
into  bold  relief  against  the  deep  shadows  of  palm  and  ilex 
many  feathery  fountain  sprays,  crowning  flower-filled  basins 
of  alabaster  with  whispering  coolness. 

The  path  was  strewn  with  powdered  sea  shells  and  bordered 


AN  ITALIAN  NIGHT  293 

on  either  side  with  rare  plants,  filling  the  air  with  exquisite 
perfume.  Between  thickets  of  yellow  tufted  mimosa  and 
leafy  bowers  of  acacia  shimmered  the  crystal  surface  of  the 
marble  cinctured  lake,  tinted  with  pale  gold  and  shrouded  by 
pearl-hued  vapors.  —  Pink  and  white  myrtles,  golden-hued 
jonquils,  rainbow  tinted  chrysanthema,  purple  rhododendrons, 
iris,  lilac  and  magnolia  mingled  their  odors  in  an  almost  dis 
concerting  orgy,  and  rare  orchids  raised  their  glowing  petals 
with  tropical  gorgeousness  from  vases  of  verdigris  bronze  in 
the  moonlight. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  marble  kiosk,  there  stood  the  immo 
bile  form  of  a  woman,half  hidden  behind  a  cluster  of  blooming 
orchids. 

The  silver  light  of  the  moon  fell  upon  the  pale  features  of 
Theodora.  Her  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  dark  avenue  of 
cypress  trees,  through  which  Tristan  was  swiftly  approaching. 

She  stood  there  waiting  for  him,  clad  in  misty  white,  like 
the  moonbeams,  yet  the  byssus  of  her  garb  was  no  whiter 
than  was  the  throat  that  rose  from  the  faultless  trunk  of  her 
body,  no  whiter  than  her  wonderful  hands  and  arms. 

Tristan's  lips  tightened.  He  had  come  to  claim  the  scarf 
and  dagger.  To-night  should  end  it  all.  There  was  no  place 
in  his  life  for  this  woman  whose  beauty  would  be  the  undoing 
of  him  who  gave  himself  up  to  its  fatal  spell. 

As  he  stood  before  her,  a  gleam  of  moonlight  on  his  broad 
shoulders,  Theodora  felt  the  blood  recede  to  her  heart,  the 
while  she  gazed  on  his  set,  yet  watchful  face.  His  silence 
seemed  to  numb  her  faculties  and  her  voice  sounded  strange 
as,  extending  her  hand,  she  said: 

"  Welcome,  my  Lord  Tristan." 

He  bowed  low,  barely  touching  the  soft  white  fingers. 

"  The  Lady  Theodora  has  been  pleased  to  summon  me  and 
I  have  obeyed.  I  am  here  to  claim  the  dagger  which  was 
taken  from  me  and  the  scarf  of  blue  samite." 

Theodora  glanced  at  him  for  a  moment,  the  blood  drumming 


294   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

in  her  ears  and  driving  a  coherent  answer  from  her  mind, 
while  Tristan  met  her  gaze  without  flinching,  with  the  memory 
of  Hellayne  in  his  heart. 

"  Presently  will  I  reveal  this  matter  to  you,  my  Lord  Tris 
tan,"  she  said  at  last.  "  Meanwhile  sit  you  here  beside  me 
—  for  the  night  is  hot,  and  I  have  waited  long  for  your  coming." 

For  a  moment  Tristan  hesitated,  then  he  took  his  seat 
beside  her  on  the  marble  bench, his  brain  afire,  as  he  mused 
on  all  the  treachery  her  soft  bosom  held. 

"  You  look  strangely  at  me,  Tristan,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone,  dropping  all  formality,  "  almost  as  if  it  gave  you  pain 
to  sit  beside  me.  Yet  I  cannot  think  that  a  man  like  you  has 
never  rested  beside  a  beautiful  woman  in  an  hour  of  solitude 
and  passion." 

A  laugh,  soft  as  the  music  of  the  Castalian  fountain,  fell  on 
Tristan's  ear,  but  as  he  sat  without  answer,  she  continued, 
her  face  very  close  to  his: 

"  Strange,  indeed,  my  words  may  sound  in  your  ears, 
Tristan  —  and  yet  —  can  it  be  that  you  are  blind  as  well  as 
deaf  to  the  call  of  the  Goddess  of  Love,  who  rules  us  all?  " 

She  paused,  her  lips  ajar,  her  eyes  alight  with  a  strange 
fire,  such  as  he  had  seen  therein  on  the  night  in  the  sunken 
gardens,  beyond  the  glimmering  lake. 

"And  what  have  I  to  give  to  you,  Lady  Theodora,"  he  said  at 
length.  "  What  can  you  expect  from  me,  the  giving  of  which 
would  not  turn  my  honor  to  disgrace  and  my  strength  to 
water?  " 

At  his  words  she  rose  up  and,  towering  her  glorious  woman 
hood  above  him,  glided  behind  the  marble  bench  and,  leaning 
hot  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  bent  low  her  head,  till  strands 
of  perfumed  hair  rested  on  his  tense  features. 

"  Do  you  love  power,  Tristan?  "  she  said  with  low,  yet 
vibrant  voice.  "  I  tell  you  that,  if  you  give  yourself  to  me, 
there  are  no  heights  to  which  the  lover  of  Theodora  may  not 
climb.  The  way  lies  open  from  camp  to  palace,  from  sword 


AN  ITALIAN  NIGHT  295 

to  sceptre,  and,  though  the  aim  be  high,  at  least  it  is  worth 
the  risk.  Steep  is  the  path,  but,  though  attainment  seems 
impossible,  I  tell  you  it  is  the  wings  of  love  that  shall  raise  you 
and  bid  you  soar  to  flights  of  glory  and  rapture.  I  offer  you 
a  kingdom,  if  you  will  but  lay  your  sword  at  my  feet  and  yet 
more  besides,  for,  Tristan,  I  offer  you  myself." 

The  perfumed  head  bent  lower  and  the  scented  cloud  fell 
more  thickly  upon  him  as  he  sat  there,  dazed  and  enchanted 
out  of  all  powers  of  resistance  by  the  misty  sapphire  eyes  that 
gleamed  amid  it,  and  seemed  to  drag  his  soul  from  out  of 
him.  Now  his  head  was  pillowed  on  her  soft  bosom  and  her 
white  arms  were  about  him,  while  lingering  kisses  burnt  on 
his  unresponsive  lips,  when  suddenly  she  faced  round  with  a 
cry,  for  there,  directly  before  them  hi  the  clearing,  stood  a 
woman,  whose  gleaming  white  robe,  untouched  by  any  color, 
save  that  of  the  violet  band  that  bound  it  round  her  shoulders, 
seemed  one  with  the  sun-kissed  hair,  tied  into  a  simple  knot. 

Hellayne  stood  there  as  if  deprived  of  motion,  her  blue 
eyes  wide  with  horror  and  pain,  her  curved  lips  parted,  as  if 
to  speak,  though  no  sound  came  from  them,  until  Tristan 
turned  and,  as  then:  glances  met,  he  gave  a  strangled  groan 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Theodora  stood  immobile,  with  blazing  eyes  and  terrible 
face,  then  she  clapped  her  hands  twice  and  at  the  sound  two 
eunuchs  appeared  and  stood  motionless  awaiting  then*  mis 
tress*  behest.  For  apace  there  was  silence,  while  Theodora 
glanced  from  the  one  to  the  other,  quivering  from  head  to 
foot  with  the  violence  of  the  passion  that  possessed  her, 
casting  anon  a  glance  at  Tristan  who  stood  silent,  with  bowed 
head. 

At  length  she  glided  up  to  him  and,  as  she  laid  her  two 
white  hands  on  his  broad  shoulders,  Tristan  shuddered  and 
felt  a  longing  to  make  an  end  of  all  her  evil  beauty  and 
devilish  cunning.  Then,  deliberately,  she  took  the  scarf  of 
blue  samite,  which  lay  beside  her  and  put  her  foot  upon  it. 


296  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  This  is  very  precious  to  you,  Tristan,  is  it  not?  "  she  said 
in  her  sweet  voice,  while  her  witching  eyes  sank  into  his. 
"  I  was  about  to  tell  you  how  you  might  serve  me,  and  deserve 
all  the  happiness  that  is  in  store  for  you  when  I  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  appearance  of  this  woman.  Can  you  tell  me, 
who  she  is,  and  why  she  is  regarding  you  so  strangely?  " 

As  she  spoke  she  turned  slowly  towards  Hellayne  whose 
face  was  pale  as  death. 

A  spasm  of  rage  shook  Tristan,  at  the  sight  of  the  woman 
who  regarded  him  out  of  wide,  pitiful  eyes,  but  even  as  he 
longed  to  pierce  the  heart  of  her  who  was  striving  to  wreck 
all  he  held  dear,  Odo  of  Cluny's  warning  seemed  to  clear  his 
brain  of  the  rage  and  hate  that  was  clouding  it,  and  in  that 
instant  he  knew,  if  he  played  his  part,  he  held  in  his  hand 
the  last  throw  in  the  dread  game,  of  which  Rome  was  the 
pawn. 

"  In  all  things  will  I  do  your  bidding,  Lady  Theodora,  — 
for  who  can  withstand  your  beauty  and  your  enchantment?" 
said  a  voice  that  seemed  not  part  of  himself. 

Theodora  turned  to  Hellayne. 

"  You  have  heard  the  words  the  Lord  Tristan  has  spoken," 
she  said  in  veiled  tone  of  mockery.  "  Tell  me  now,  did  you 
not  know  that  I  was  engaged  upon  matters  of  state  when  you 
intruded  yourself  into  our  presence?  " 

For  a  moment  the  blue  eyes  of  Hellayne  flashed  swords 
with  the  dark  orbs  of  Theodora.  There  was  a  silence  and 
the  two  women  read  each  other's  inmost  thoughts,  Hellayne 
meeting  Theodora's  contemptuous  scorn  with  the  keen  look 
of  one  who  has  seen  her  peril  and  has  nerved  herself  to  meet 
it. 

To  Tristan  she  did  not  even  vouchsafe  a  glance. 

"  I  followed  one,  perjured  and  forsworn,"  she  said  in  tones 
that  cut  Tristan's  very  soul,  while  a  look  of  immeasurable 
contempt  flashed  from  her  blue  eyes.  "  You  are  welcome  to 
him,  Lady  Theodora.  I  do  not  even  envy  you  his  memory." 


AN  ITALIAN  NIGHT  297 

Ere  Theodora  could  reply,  Hellayne,  with  a  choking  sob, 
turned  and  fled  down  the  moonlit  path  like  some  hunted 
thing,  and  ere  either  realized  what  had  happened  she  had 
vanished  in  the  night. 

Tristan,  dreading  the  worst,  his  soul  bruised  in  its  inner 
most  depths,  cursing  himself  for  having  permitted  any  con 
sideration  except  Hellayne's  life  to  interfere  with  his  precon 
ceived  plans,  started  to  follow,  when  Theodora,  guessing  his 
purpose,  suddenly  barred  his  way. 

Ere  he  could  prevent,  she  had  thrown  her  arms  about  him 
and  her  face  upturned  to  his  stormy  brow  she  whispered 
deliriously,  utterly  oblivious  of  two  eyes  that  burnt  from  their 
sockets  like  live  coals : 

"  I  love  you!  I  love  you!  "  and  her  whole  being  seemed 
ablaze  with  the  fire  of  an  all-devouring  passion.  "  Tristan, 
I  love  you  with  a  love  so  idolatrous,  that  I  could  slay  you  with 
these  hands  rather  than  be  spurned,  be  denied  by  you.  Love 
me  Tristan  —  love  me !  And  I  shall  give  you  such  love  in 
return  as  mortals  have  never  known.  I  am  as  one  in  a  trance 
—  I  cannot  see  —  I  cannot  think !  I,  the  woman  born  to 
command  —  am  begging  —  imploring  —  I  care  not  what  you 
do  with  me — what  becomes  of  me.  Take  me! — I  am 
yours  —  body  and  soul !  " 

Her  face  was  lighted  up  by  the  pale  rays  of  the  moon. 
But,  though  his  senses  were  steeped  in  a  delirium  that  almost 
took  from  him  his  manhood,  the  gloom  but  deepened  on 
Tristan's  brow,  while  with  moist  hungry  lips  she  kissed  him, 
again  and  again. 

At  last,  seemingly  on  the  verge  of  merging  his  whole  being 
into  her  own,  he  succeeded  in  extricating  himself  from  the 
steely  coils  of  those  white  arms. 

"  Lady  Theodora,"  he  said  in  cold  and  constrained  tones, 
"  I  am  too  poor  to  return  even  in  part  such  priceless  favors  of 
the  Lady  Theodora's  love!  " 

Stung  in  her  innermost  soul  by  his  words,  trembling  from 


298  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

head  to  foot  with  the  violence  of  her  emotions,  she  panted  in 
a  passion  of  anger  and  shame. 

"  You  dare?  This  to  me?  Since  then  you  will  not  love 
me  —  take  this  —  " 

Above  him,  in  her  hand,  gleamed  his  own  unsheathed 
dagger. 

Tristan  with  a  supple  movement  caught  the  white  wrist  and 
wrenched  the  weapon  from  her. 

"  The  Lady  Theodora  is  always  true  to  herself,"  he  said 
with  cutting  irony,  retreating  from  her  in  the  direction  of  the 
lake. 

She  threw  out  her  arms. 

"  Tristan  —  Tristan  —  forgive  me  !  Come  back  —  I  am 
not  myself." 

He  paused. 

"  And  were  you  Aphrodite,  I  should  spurn  your  love,  —  I 
should  refuse  to  kiss  the  lips,  which  a  slave,  a  churl  has 
defiled." 

"  You  spurn  me,"  she  laughed  deliriously.  "  Perchance, 
you  are  right.  And  yet,"  she  added  in  a  sadder  tone,  "  how 
often  does  fate  but  grant  us  the  dream  and  destroy  the 
reality.  Go  —  ere  I  forget,  and  do  what  I  may  repent  of. 
Go!  My  brain  is  on  fire.  I  know  not  what  I  am  saying. 
Go!" 

As  Tristan  turned  without  response,  a  gleam  of  deadly 
hatred  shone  from  her  eyes.  For  a  long  time  she  stood 
motionless  by  the  kiosk,  staring  as  one  in  a  trance  down  the 
long  cypress  avenue,  whose  shadows  had  swallowed  up 
Tristan's  retreating  form. 

The  spectral  rays  of  the  moon  broke  here  and  there 
through  the  dense,  leafy  canopy,  and  dream-like  the  distant 
sounds  of  harps  and  flutes  were  wafted  through  the  stillness 
of  the  starlit  southern  night. 


CHAPTER   IX 


THE    NET    OF    THE    FOWLER 


HE  appearance  of  Basil  who 
had  emerged  from  the  kiosk 
and  regarded  Theodora  with  a 
look  in  his  pale,  passion  dis 
torted  features  that  seemed  to 
light  up  recesses  in  his  own 
heart  and  soul  which  he  himself 
had  never  fathomed,  caused  the 
woman  to  turn.  But  she  looked 
at  the  man  with  an  almost  un 
knowing  stare.  Notwithstanding  a  self-control  which  she 
rarely  lost,  she  had  not  found  herself.  The  incredible  had 
happened.  When  she  seemed  absolutely  sure  of  the  man, 
he  had  denied  her.  Her  ruse  had  been  her  undoing.  For 
Hellayne's  presence  had  been  neither  accidental,  nor  had 
Hellayne  herself  brought  it  about.  The  messenger  who  had 
summoned  Tristan  had  skillfully  absolved  both  commissions. 
He  was  to  have  brought  the  woman  to  the  tryst,  that  she  might, 
with  her  own  eyes,  witness  her  rival's  triumph.  In  her  flight 
she  had  vanquished  Theodora. 

Stealthily  as  a  snake  moves  in  the  grass,  Basil  came  nearer 
and  nearer.  When  he  had  reached  Theodora's  side  he  took 
the  white  hand  and  raised  it,  unresisting,  to  his  lips.  His  eyes 
sought  those  of  the  woman,  but  a  moment  or  two  elapsed  ere 
she  seemed  even  to  note  his  presence. 

He  bent  low.  There  was  love,  passion,  adoration  in  his 
eyes  and  there  was  more.  Theodora  had  over  acted  her 


300  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

part.  He  had  seen  the  fire  in  her  eyes  and  he  knew.  It  was 
more  than  the  determination  to  make  Tristan  pliable  to  her 
desires  in  the  great  hour  when  she  was  to  enter  Castel  San 
Angelo  as  mistress  of  Rome.  He  saw  the  abyss  that  yawned 
at  his  own  feet,  and  in  that  moment  two  resolves  had  shaped 
themselves  in  Basil's  mind,  shadowy,  but  gaming  definite 
shape  with  each  passing  moment,  and,  while  his  fevered.lips 
touched  Theodora's  hand,  all  the  evil  passions  in  his  nature 
leaped  into  his  brain. 

Suddenly  Theodora,  glancing  down  at  him,  as  if  she  for  the 
first  time  noted  his  presence,  spoke. 

"  Acknowledge,  my  lord,  that  I  have  attained  my  ends ! 
For,  had  it  not  been  for  the  appearance  of  that  woman,  I 
should  have  conquered  — ay  — conquered  beyond  a  doubt." 

But  when  she  looked  at  him  she  hardly  recognized  in  him 
the  man  she  knew,  so  terribly  had  rage  and  jealousy  distorted 
his  countenance. 

"  How  can  I  gainsay  that  you  have  conquered,  fairest  Theo 
dora,"  he  said,  "  when  I  heard  the  soft  accents  of  your  endear 
ments  and  your  panting  breath,  as  you  drowned  his  soul  in 
fiery  kisses?  'Tis  but  another  poor  fool  swallowed  up  in  the 
unsatisfied  whirlpool  of  your  desires,  another  victim  marked 
for  the  holocaust  that  is  to  be.  But  why  did  the  Lady  Theo 
dora  cry  out  and  bring  the  tender  love  scene  to  a  close  all 
unfinished?  " 

"  By  pale  Hekate,  I  had  almost  forgot  the  woman!  Why 
did  I  permit  her  to  go  without  strangling  her  on  the  spot?  " 
she  cried,  the  growing  anger  which  the  man's  speech  had 
aroused,  brought  to  white  heat  in  the  reminder. 

"  The  honor  of  being  strangled  by  the  fair  hands  of  the 
Lady  Theodora  may  be  great,"  sneered  Basil.  "  Yet  I  ques 
tion  if  the  Lady  Hellayne  would  submit  without  a  struggle 
even  to  so  fair  an  opponent." 

"  Why  do  you  taunt  me?  "  Theodora  flashed. 

"  Why?  "  he  cried.    "  Because  I  witnessed  another  reaping 


THE  NET  OF  THE  FOWLER       301 

the  fruit  of  the  deeds  I  have  sown  —  another  stealing  from  me 
the  love  of  the  woman  I  have  possessed,  —  one,  too,  held  in 
silken  bondage  by  another's  wife.  Rather  would  I  plunge 
this  knife  into  my  own  heart  and  —  " 

Theodora's  bosom  heaved  convulsively. 

"  Put  up  your  dagger,  my  lord,"  she  said,  with  a  wave  of 
her  hand.  "For,  ere  long,it  shall  drink  its  fill.  Strange  it  is 
that  I— the  like  of  whose  beauty, as  they  tell  me,  is  not  on 
earth  —  should  be  conquered  by  a  woman  from  the  North  — 
that  the  fires  of  the  South  should  be  quenched  by  Northern 
ice.  I  could  almost  wish  that  matters  had  run  differently 
between  her  and  myself,  for  she  is  brave,  else  had  she  not 
faced  me  as  she  did." 

"  What  else  can  you  look  for,  Lady  Theodora,  from  one 
sprung  from  such  a  race?  "  replied  the  man  sullenly.  "  I 
tell  you,  Lady  Theodora,  if  you  do  not  ward  yourself  against 
her,  she  will  vanquish  you  utterly,  body  and  soul." 

"  The  future  shall  decide  between  us.  I  am  still  Theodora, 
and  it  will  go  hard  with  you,  if  you  interpret  my  will  according 
to  your  own  desires.  I  foresee  that  we  shall  have  need  of  all 
our  resources  when  the  hour  tolls  that  shall  see  Theodora  set 
upon  the  throne  that  is  her  own,  and  then  —  let  deeds  speak, 
not  words." 

"  Since  when  have  you  found  occasion  to  doubt  the  sure- 
ness  of  my  blade,  Lady  Theodora?  "  answered  Basil,  a  dark 
look  in  his  furtive  eyes. 

"  Peace,  my  lord!  "  interposed  Theodora.  "  Why  do  you 
raise  up  the  ghost  of  that  which  has  been  between  us?  Bury 
the  past,  for  the  last  throw  that  is  in  the  hands  of  destiny 
ends  the  game  which  has  been  played  round  this  city  of  Rome 
these  many  weary  days." 

"  And  had  you,  Theodora,  of  a  truth  won  over  this  Tristan," 
came  the  dark  reply,  "  so  that  one  hour's  delight  in  your  arms 
would  have  caused  him  to  forget  the  world  about  him  —  what 
of  me  who  has  given  to  you  the  love,  the  devotion  of  a  slave?  " 


302    UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

At  the  words  Theodora  flung  wide  her  shimmering  arms 
and  cried : 

"  I  tell  you,  my  lord,  that  as  I  hold  you  and  every  man 
captive  on  whom  my  charms  have  fallen,  so  shall  I  hold  in 
chains  the  soul  of  this  Tristan,  even  though  he  resist  —  to 
the  last." 

"  Full  well  do  I  know  the  potency  of  your  spell,"  answered 
Basil  with  lowering  eyes,  "  and,  I  doubt  me,  if  such  is  the  case. 
Nevertheless,  I  warn  you,  Lady  Theodora,  not  to  place  too 
great  a  share  of  this  desperate  venture  on  the  shoulders  of 
one  you  have  never  proved." 

A  contemptuous  smile  curved  Theodora's  lips  as  she  rose 
from  her  seat.  With  a  single  sweep  her  draperies  fell  from 
her  like  mist  from  a  snow-clad  peak,  and  for  the  space  of  a 
moment  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  Basil's  panting 
breath.  At  last  Theodora  spoke. 

"  Man's  honor  is  so  much  chaff  for  the  burning,  when  the 
darts  of  love  pierce  his  brain.  With  beauty's  weapons  I  have 
fought  before,  and  once  again  the  victory  shall  be  mine !  " 

There  was  an  ominous  light  in  Basil's  eyes. 

"  Beware,  lest  the  victory  be  not  purchased  with  the  blood 
of  one  whom  your  fickleness  has  chosen  to  sit  in  the  empty 
seat  of  the  discarded.  At  the  bidding  of  a  mad  passion  have 
you  been  defeated." 

A  flood  of  words  surged  irresistibly  to  Basil's  lips,  but  at 
the  sight  of  Theodora's  set  face  the  words  froze  in  the  utter 
ance.  But  when  the  woman  stared  into  space,  her  face 
showing  no  sign  that  she  had  even  heard  his  speech,  he  con 
tinued  : 

"  And  when  you  are  stretched  out  on  a  bed  of  torment  and 
call  for  death  to  ease  your  pain,  let  the  bitterest  pang  be  that, 
had  you  enlisted  my  blade  and  cherished  the  devotion  I  bore 
you,  this  night's  work  would  have  set  the  seal  of  victory  on 
our  perilous  venture." 

"  Blinded  I  have  been,"  said  Theodora,  a  strange  light 


THE  NET  OF  THE  FOWLER       303 

leaping  to  her  eyes,  "  to  all  the  devotion  which  now  I  begin  to 
fathom  more  clearly.  Answer  me  then,  my  lord!  Is  it  only 
to  slake  the  pangs  of  mad  jealousy  that  you  taunt  me  with 
words  which  no  man  has  dared  to  speak  —  and  live?  " 

The  sheen  of  a  drawn  dagger  flashed  above  his  head. 
Basil  faced  the  death  that  lurked  in  Theodora's  uplifted  arm 
and  he  replied  in  an  unmoved  voice : 

"  Lady  Theodora,  if  you  harbor  one  single  doubt  in  your 
mind  of  him  who  has  worked  your  will  on  those  you  consigned 
to  their  doom  and  laid  their  proud  heads  low  in  the  dust  of 
the  grave,  let  your  blade  descend  and  quit  me  according  to 
what  I  have  deserved.  Nay  —  Lady  Theodora,"  he  con 
tinued,  as  her  white  arm  still  hovered  tense  above  him,  "  it  is 
quite  evident  your  love  I  never  had,  your  trust  I  have  lost! 
Therefore  send  my  soul  to  the  dim  realms  of  the  underworld, 
for  I  have  no  longer  any  desire  for  life." 

He  was  gazing  up  at  her  with  eyes  full  of  passionate  devo 
tion,  when  of  a  sudden  the  blade  dropped  from  her  grasp, 
tinkling  on  the  stone  beneath,  and,  burying  her  face  in  her 
hands,  Theodora  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears  that  shook  her 
form  with  piteous  sobbing. 

"  By  all  the  saints,  dear  lady,  weep  not,"  Basil  pleaded, 
placing  gentle  hands  upon  her  shoulders.  "  Rather  let  your 
dagger  do  its  work  and  drink  my  blood,  than  that  grief  should 
thus  undo  you." 

"  Truly  had  some  evil  spirit  entered  into  me,"  she  spoke 
at  length  in  broken  accents,  "  else  had  I  not  so  madly  sus 
pected  one  whose  devotion  to  me  has  never  wavered.  Can 
you  forgive  me,  my  lord,  most  trusted  and  doubted  of  my 
friends?  " 

With  a  fierce  outcry  the  man  cast  himself  at  her  feet,  and, 
bending  low,  kissed  her  hands,  while,  in  tones,  hoarse  with 
passion,  he  stammered: 

"  Let  me  then  prove  my  love,  Lady  Theodora,  most  beau* 
tiful  of  all  women  on  earth  t  Set  the  task !  Show  me  how  to 


304   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

win  back  that  which  I  have  lost !    Let  me  become  your  utter 
slave." 

And,  so  saying,  he  swept  the  unresisting  woman  into  his 
grasp,  and  as  her  body  lay  motionless  against  his  breast  the 
sight  of  her  lips  so  close  to  his  own  sent  the  hot  blood  hurtling 
through  his  fevered  brain. 

Theodora  shuddered  in  his  embrace. 

He  kissed  her,  again  and  again,  and  her  wet  lips  roused  in 
him  all  the  demoniacal  passions  of  his  nature. 

"  Speak,"  he  stammered,  "  what  must  I  do  to  prove  to  you 
the  love  which  is  in  my  heart  —  the  passion  that  burns  my 
soul  to  crisp,  as  the  fires  of  hell  the  souls  of  the  damned?  " 

Theodora's  eyes  were  closed,  as  if  she  hesitated  to  speak 
the  words  that  her  lips  had  framed.  He,  Tristan,  had  brought 
her  to  this  pass.  He  had  denied,  insulted  her,  he  had  made 
a  mock  of  her  in  the  eyes  of  this  man,  who  was  kneeling  at 
her  feet,  bond  slave  of  his  passions.  By  his  side  no  task 
would  have  seemed  to  great  of  accomplishment.  And  what 
ever  the  fruits  of  her  plotting  he  was  to  have  shared  them. 
How  she  hated  him;  and  how  she  hated  that  woman  who  had 
come  between  them.  As  for  him  whose  stammering  words 
of  love  tumbled  from  his  drunken  lips,  Theodora  could  have 
driven  her  poniard  through  his  heart  without  wincing  in  the 
act. 

"  If  you  love  me  then,  as  you  say,"  she  whispered  at  last, 
"  revenge  me  on  him  who  has  put  this  slight  upon  me !  " 

A  baleful  light  shone  in  Basil's  eyes. 

"  He  dies  this  very  night." 

She  raised  her  hands  with  a  shudder. 

"  No  —  no !  Not  a  quick  death !  He  would  die  as  another 
changes  his  garment  —  with  a  smile.  —  No !  Not  a  quick 
death !  Let  him  live,  but  wish  he  were  dead  a  thousand 
times.  Strike  him  through  his  honor.  Strike  him  through 
the  woman  he  loves." 

For  a  pace  Basil  was  silent.     Could  Theodora  have  read  his 


THE  NET  OF  THE  FOWLER      305 

thoughts  at  this  moment  the  weapon  would  not  have  dropped 
from  her  nerveless  grasp. 

"  Ah!  "  he  said,  and  a  film  seemed  to  pass  over  his  eyes  in 
the  utterance.  "  There  is  nothing  that  shall  be  left  undone 
-  through  his  honor  —  through  the  woman  he  loves." 

She  utterly  abandoned  herself  to  him  now,  suffering  his 
endearments  and  kisses  like  a  thing  of  stone  and  thereby 
rousing  his  passions  to  their  highest  pitch.  She  could  have 
strangled  him  like  a  poisonous  reptile  that  defiled  her  body, 
but,  after  having  suffered  his  embrace  for  a  time,  she  sud 
denly  shook  herself  free  of  him. 

"  My  lord  —  what  of  our  plans?  How  much  longer  must 
I  wait  ere  the  clarions  announce  to  Rome  that  the  Emperor's 
Tomb  harbors  a  new  mistress?  What  of  Alberic?  What  of 
Hassan  Abdullah,  the  Saracen?  " 

Basil  was  regarding  her  with  a  mixture  of  savage  passion, 
doubt,  incredulity  and  something  like  fear. 

"  The  death-hounds  are  on  Alberic's  scent,"  he  said  at 
last,  with  an  effort  to  steady  his  voice,  and  hold  in  leash  his 
feelings,  which  threatened  to  master  him,  as  his  eyes  devoured 
the  woman's  beauty.  —  "  Hassan  Abdullah  is  even  now  in 
Rome." 

"  Can  we  rely  upon  him  and  his  Saracens  when  the  hour 
tolls  that  shall  see  Theodora  mistress  of  Rome?  " 

"  Weighing  a  sack  of  gold  against  the  infidel's  treachery, 
it  is  safe  to  predict  that  the  scales  will  tip  in  favor  of  the  bribe 
—  so  it  be  large  enough." 

"  Be  lavish  with  him,  and  if  his  heart  be  set  on  other  mat- 


She  paused,  regarding  the  man  with  an  inscrutable  look. 
Shrewd  as  he  was,  he  caught  not  its  meaning. 

"  Why  not  entrust  to  his  care  the  Lady  Hellayne?  " 

The  devilish  suggestion  seemed  to  find  not  as  enthusiastic 
a  reception  as  she  had  anticipated. 

"  After  having  seen  the  Lady  Theodora,"  Basil  said,  his 


306  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

eyes  avoiding  those  of  the  woman,  "  I  fear  the  Lady  Hellayne 
will  appear  poor  in  Hassan  Abdullah's  eyes." 

Theodora  had  grown  pensive. 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  To  me  she  seemed  like  a  snow-capped 
volcano.  All  ice  without,  all  fire  within.  Perchance  I  should 
bow  to  your  better  judgment,  my  lord,  and  perchance  to 
Hassan  Abdullah's,  whose  good  taste  in  preferring  the  Lady 
Theodora  cannot  be  gainsaid.  But,  our  guests  are  becoming 
impatient.  Take  me  to  the  palace." 

Basil  barred  the  woman's  way. 

"  And  when  you  have  reached  the  summit  of  your  desire, 
will  you  remember  certain  nuptials  consummated  in  a  certain 
chamber  in  the  Emperor's  Tomb,  between  two  placed  as  we 
are  and  mated  as  we?  " 

Theodora's  lips  curved  in  one  of  those  rare  smiles  which 
brought  him  to  whom  she  gave  it  to  her  feet, her  abject  slave. 

"  I  shall  remember,  my  lord,"  she  said,  and,  linking  her 
arm  in  his,  they  strode  towards  the  palace. 


CHAPTER  X 


DEVIL  WORSHIP 


HE  dawn  of  the  following  day 
brought  in  its  wake  conster 
nation  and  terror.  From  the 
churches  of  the  two  Egyptian 
Martyrs,  Sts.  Cosmas  and 
Damian,  the  Holy  Host  had 
been  taken  during  the  preced 
ing  night.  Frightened  beyond 
measure,  the  ministering  priests 
had  suffered  the  terrible  secret 
to  leak  out,  and  this  circumstance,  coupled  with  the  unex 
plained  absence  of  the  Senator,  the  tardiness  of  the  Prefect 
to  start  his  investigations,  and  the  captivity  of  the  Pontiff, 
threw  the  Romans  into  a  panic.  It  was  impossible  to  guard 
every  church  in  Rome  against  a  similar  outrage,  as  the  guards 
of  the  Senator  were  inadequate  in  number,  and,  consisting 
chiefly  of  foreign  elements,  could  not  be  relied  upon. 

The  early  hours  of  the  morning  found  Tristan  in  the  her 
mitage  of  Odo  of  Cluny.  To  him  he  confided  the  incidents 
of  the  night  and  his  adventure  in  the  Catacombs.  To  him  he 
also  imparted  the  terrible  discovery  he  had  made. 

Odo  of  Cluny  listened  in  silence,  his  face  betraying  no  sign 
of  the  emotion  he  felt.  When  Tristan  had  concluded  his 
account  he  regarded  him  long  and  earnestly. 

"  I,  too,  have  long  known  that  all  is  not  well,  that  there  is 
something  brewing  in  this  witches'  cauldron  which  may  not 
stand  the  light  of  day. —  " 


308  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  But  what  is  it?  "  cried  Tristan.  "  Tell  me,  Father,  for  a 
great  fear  as  of  some  horrible  danger  is  upon  me;  a  fear  I 
cannot  define  and  which  yet  will  not  leave  me." 

Odo's  face  was  calm  and  grave.  The  Benedictine  monk 
had  been  listening  intently,  but  with  a  detached  interest,  as 
to  some  tale  which,  even  if  it  concerned  himself,  could  not 
in  the  least  disturb  his  equanimity.  With  his  supernormal 
quickness  of  perception  he  knew  at  once  the  powers  with 
which  he  had  to  cope.  Tristan  had  told  him  of  the  devilish 
face  in  the  panel  during  the  night  of  his  first  watch  at  the 
Lateran. 

"  The  powers  of  Evil  at  work  are  so  great  that  only  a  mir 
acle  from  heaven  can  save  us,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Listen  well, 
and  lose  not  a  word  of  what  I  am  about  to  say.  Have  you 
ever  heard  of  one  Mani,  who  lived  in  Babylonia  some  seven 
hundred  years  ago  and  founded  a  religion  in  which  he  pro 
fessed  to  blend  the  teachings  of  Christ  with  the  cult  of  the 
old  Persian  Magi?  " 

A  negative  gesture  came  in  response.  Tristan's  face  was 
tense  with  anxiety.  Odo  continued: 

"  According  to  his  teachings  there  exist  two  kingdoms : 
the  kingdom  of  Light  and  the  kingdom  of  Darkness.  Light 
represents  the  beneficent  primal  spirit:  God.  Darkness  is 
likewise  a  spiritual  kingdom:  Satan  and  his  demons  were 
born  from  the  kingdom  of  Darkness.  These  two  kingdoms 
have  stood  opposed  to  each  other  from  all  eternity  —  touching 
each  other's  boundaries,  yet  remaining  unmingled.  At  last 
Satan  began  to  rage  and  made  an  incursion  into  the  .kingdom 
of  Light.  Now.,  the  God  of  Light  begat  the  primal  man  and 
sent  him,  equipped  with  the  five  pure  elements,  to  fight  against 
Satan.  But  the  latter  proved  himself  the  stronger,  and  the 
primal  man  was,  for  the  time,  vanquished.  In  time  the  cult 
of  the  Manichasans  spread.  The  seat  of  the  Manichsean 
pope  was  for  centuries  at  Samarkand.  From  there,  defying 
persecutions,  the  sect  spread,  and  obtained  a  foothold  in 


DEVIL  WORSHIP  309 

northern  Africa  at  the  time  of  St.  Augustine.  Thence  it  slowly 
invaded  Italy." 

Tristan  listened  with  deep  attention. 

"  The  original  creed  had  meanwhile  been  split  up  into 
numerous  sects,"  Odo  of  Cluny  continued.  "  The  followers 
of  Mani  believed  there  were  two  Gods,  —  the  one  of  Light, 
the  other  of  Darkness,  both  equally  powerful  in  their  separate 
kingdoms.  But  lately  one  by  the  name  of  Bogumil  proclaims 
that  God  never  created  the  world,  that  Christ  had  not  an 
actual  body,  that  he  neither  could  have  been  born,  nor  that 
he  died,  that  our  bodies  are  evil,  a  foul  excrescence,  as  it 
were,  of  the  evil  principle.  Maintaining  that  God  had  two 
sons  —  Satan  the  older  and  Christ  the  younger  —  they  refuse 
homage  to  the  latter,  Regent  of  the  Celestial  World,  and  wor 
ship  Lucifer.  And  they  hold  meetings  and  perform  diabolical 
ceremonies,  in  which  they  make  wafers  of  ashes  and  drink 
the  blood  of  a  goat,  which  their  devil-priests  administer  to 
them  in  communion." 

Odo  of  Cluny  paused  and  took  a  long  breath,  fixing  Tristan 
with  his  dark  eyes.  And  when  Tristan,  stark  with  horror, 
dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  Odo  concluded: 

"  This  is  the  peril  that  confronts  us !  And  Holy  Church 
is  without  a  head,  and  the  cardinals  cannot  cope  with  the  ter 
rible  scourge.  It  is  this  you  saw,  my  son,  and,  had  your  pres 
ence  been  discovered,  you  would  never  again  have  greeted 
the  light  of  day." 

At  last  Tristan  found  his  tongue. 

"  God  forbid  that  there  should  be  such  a  thing,  that  men 
should  worship  the  Fiend." 

"  Nevertheless  they  do,"  Odo  replied,  "  and  other  things 
too  awful  for  mortal  mind  to  credit." 

The  perspiration  came  out  on  Tristan's  brow.  Although 
he  was  prepared  for  matters  of  infinite  moment  and  knew 
that  this  interview  might  well  be  one  of  the  decisive  moments 
of  his  life,  he  yet  possessed  the  detached  attitude  of  mind 


310  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

which  was  curious  of  strange  learning  and  information,  even 
in  a  crisis. 

"  And  you  have  known  this,  Father?  "  he  said  at  last,  "  and 
you  have  done  nothing  to  check  the  evil?  " 

"  We  are  living  in  evil  times,  my  son,"  Odo  replied.  "  I 
have  long  known  of  the  existence  of  this  black  heresy,  which 
has  slowly  spread  its  baleful  cult,  until  it  has  reached  our  very 
shores.  But  that  they  would  dare  to  establish  themselves  in 
the  city  of  the  Apostle,  this  I  was  not  prepared  to  accept,  until 
the  terrible  crime  at  the  Lateran  removed  the  last  doubt. 
And  now  I  know  that  the  foul  thing  has  obtained  a  footing 
here,  and  more  than  that,  I  know  that  some  high  in  power 
are  affiliated  with  this  society  of  Satan,  that  would  establish 
the  reign  of  Lucifer  among  the  Seven  Hills.  Did  you  not 
tell  me,  my  son,  of  one,  terrible  of  aspect,  who  peered  through 
the  panel  in  the  Capella  Palatina  on  the  night  of  that  first 
and  most  horrible  outrage?  " 

"  One  who  looked  as  the  Fiend  might  look,  did  he  assume 
human  guise,"  Tristan  confirmed  with  a  nod. 

"  The  high  priest  of  Satan,"  Odo  returned,  "  a  familiar  of 
black  magic  —  the  most  terrible  of  all  heinous  crimes  against 
Holy  Church.  A  wave  of  crime  is  rolling  its  crimson  tide 
over  the  Eternal  City  such  as  the  annals  of  the  Church  have 
never  recorded.  It  started  in  the  reign  of  Marozia,  and 
Theodora  is  leagued  with  the  fiend,  as  was  her  sister  before 
her." 

Odo  paused  for  a  moment,  breathing  deep,  while  Tristan 
listened  spellbound. 

"  Have  you  ever  pondered,"  he  continued  with  slow  empha 
sis,  "  why  the  Lord  Alberic  entrusted  to  you,  a  stranger,  so 
important  a  post  as  the  command  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb? 
That  there  may  be  one  he  does  not  trust  and  who  that  one 
may  be?  " 

Tristan  gave  a  start. 


DEVIL  WORSHIP  311 

"  There  is  one  I  do  not  trust  —  one  who  seems  to  wrap 
himself  in  a  poison  mist  of  evil  —  the  Lord  Basil." 

"  Be  wary  and  circumspect.  Has  he  of  late  come  to  the 
Tomb?  " 

"  Three  days  ago  —  in  company  with  a  stranger  from  the 
North  —  one  I  may  not  meet  and  again  look  upon  heaven." 

"  The  woman's  husband?  "  Odo  queried  with  a  penetrating 
glance. 

Tristan  colored. 

"  How  these  two  met  I  cannot  fathom." 

"  Remember  one  thing,  my  son,  their  alliance  portends  evil 
to  some  one.  What  did  they  in  the  crypts?  " 

"  The  Lord  Basil  seems  to  have  taken  a  fancy  to  exploring 
the  cells,"  Tristan  replied.  "  Those  who  have  followed  him 
report  that  he  holds  strange  converse  with  the  ghost  of  some 
mad  monk  whom  he  starved  into  eternity." 

"  And  this  converse  —  what  is  its  subject?  "  Odo  queried 
with  awakening  interest. 

"  A  prophecy  and  a  woman,"  Tristan  replied.  "  Though 
those  who  heard  them  were  so  terror  stricken  at  their  infec 
tious  madness  that  they  fled  —  not  daring  to  tarry  longer  lest 
they  would  find  themselves  in  the  clutches  of  the  fiend." 

"  A   prophecy   and   a   woman,"    Odo   repeated   pensively. 
"  The  Lord  Alberic  has  confided  much  in  me  —  his  fears  - 
his  doubts !     For  even  he  knows  not,  how  his  mother  came  to 
her  untimely  end." 

"  The  Lady  Marozia?  " 

"  The  tale  is  known  to  you?  " 
,  "  Rumors  —  flimsy  —  intangible  —  " 

"  One  night  she  was  mysteriously  strangled.  The  Lord 
Alberic  was  almost  beside  himself.  But  the  mystery  remained 
unsolved." 

After  a  pause  Odo  continued: 

"  I,  too,  have  not  been  idle.  We  must  lull  them  in  security ! 
We  must  appear  utterly  paralyzed.  Our  terror  will  increase 


312   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

their  boldness.  Their  ultimate  object  is  still  hidden.  We 
must  be  wary.  The  Lord  Alberic  must  be  informed.  We 
must  spike  the  bait." 

"  I  have  despatched  a  trusty  messenger  in  the  guise  of  a 
peasant  to  the  shrine  of  the  Archangel,"  Tristan  interposed. 

"  God  grant  that  he  arrive  not  too  late,"  Odo  replied. 
"  And  now,  my  son,  listen  to  my  words.  A  great  soul  and  a 
stout  heart  must  he  have  who  sets  himself  to  such  a  task  as 
is  before  you!  We  are  surrounded  by  the  very  fiends  of 
Hell  in  human  guise.  Speak  to  no  one  of  what  you  have 
seen.  If  you  are  in  need  of  counsel,  come  to  me ! " 

Odo  raised  his  hands,  pronouncing  a  silent  blessing  over 
the  kneeling  visitor  and  Tristan  departed,  dazed  and  trem 
bling,  wide-eyed  and  with  pallid  lips. 

As  he  passed  Mount  Aventine  the  dark-robed  form  of  a 
hunchback  suddenly  rose  like  a  ghost  from  the  ground  beside 
him  and,  approaching  Tristan,  muttered  some  words  in  an 
unintelligible  jargon.  Believing  he  was  dealing  with  a  beggar, 
Tristan  was  about  to  dismiss  the  ill-favored  gnome  with  a 
gift,  which  the  latter  refused,  motioning  to  Tristan  to  incline 
his  ear. 

With  an  ill-concealed  gesture  of  impatience  Tristan  com 
plied,  but  his  strange  interlocutor  had  hardly  delivered  himself 
of  his  message  when  Tristan  recoiled  as  if  he  had  seen  a  snake 
in  the  grass  before  him,  every  vestige  of  color  fading  from  his 
face. 

"  At  the  Lateran?  "  he  chokingly  replied  to  the  whispered 
confidence  of  the  hunchback. 

The  latter  nodded. 

"  At  the  Lateran." 

Ere  Tristan  could  recover  from  his  surprise,  his  informant 
had  disappeared  among  the  ruins. 

For  some  time  he  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot. 

It  was  too  monstrous  —  too  unbelievable  and  yet  —  what 
could  prompt  his  informant  to  invent  so  terrible  a  tale? 


DEVIL  WORSHIP  313 

At  midnight,  two  nights  hence,  the  consecrated  wafer  was 
to  be  taken  from  the  tabernacle  in  the  Lateran! 

Perchance  he  had  spoken  even  to  one  of  the  sect  who  had, 
at  the  last  moment,  repented  of  his  share  in  the  contemplated 
outrage. 

If  it  were  granted  to  him  to  deliver  Rome  and  the  world  from 
this  terror!  A  strange  fire  gleamed  in  his  eyes  as  he  returned 
to  Castel  San  Angelo. 

Himself,  he  would  keep  the  watch  at  the  Lateran  and  foil 
the  plot. 


CHAPTER  XI 


BY  LETHE'S   SHORES 


ASIL  the  Grand  Chamberlain 
was  giving  one  of  his  renowned 
feasts  in  his  villa  on  the  Pincian 
Mount.  But  on  this  evening  he 
had  limited  the  number  of  his 
guests  to  two  score.  On  his 
right  sat  Roger  de  Laval,  the 
guest  of  honor,  on  his  left  the 
Lady  Hellayne.  Over  the  com 
pany  stretched  a  canopy  of  cloth 
of  gold.  The  chairs  were  of  gilt  bronze,  their  arms  were 
carved  in  elaborate  arabesques.  The  dishes  were  of  gold; 
the  cups  inlaid  with  jewels.  There  was  gayety  and  laughter. 
Far  into  the  night  they  caroused. 

Hellayne's  face  was  the  only  apprehensive  one  at  the  board. 
She  was  pale  and  worn,  and  her  countenance  betrayed  her 
reluctance  to  be  present  at  a  feast  into  the  spirit  of  which  she 
could  not  enter.  She  was  dimly  conscious  of  the  fact  that 
Basil  devoured  her  with  his  eyes  and  her  lord  seemed  to  find 
more  suited  entertainment  with  the  other  women  who  were 
present  than  with  his  own  wife.  Only  by  threats  and  coercion 
had  he  prevailed  upon  her  to  attend  the  Grand  Chamberlain's 
banquet.  With  a  brutality  that  was  part  of  his  coarse  nature 
he  now  left  her  to  shift  for  herself,  and  she  tolerated  Basil's 
unmistakable  insinuations  only  from  a  sense  of  utter  help 
lessness. 

Her  beauty  had  indeed  aroused  the  host's  passion  to  a 
point  where  he  threw  caution  to  the  winds.  The  exquisite 


BY  LETHE'S  SHORES  315 

face,  framed  in  a  wealth  of  golden  hair,  the  deep  blue  eyes, 
the  marble  whiteness  of  the  skin,  the  faultless  contours  of 
her  form  —  an  ensemble  utterly  opposed  to  the  darker  Roman 
type  —  had  aroused  in  him  desires  which  soon  swept  away 
the  thin  veneer  of  dissimulation  and  filled  Hellayne  with  a 
secret  dread  which  she  endeavored  to  control.  Her  thoughts 
were  with  the  man  by  whom  she  believed  herself  betrayed, 
and  while  life  seemed  to  hold  nothing  that  would  repay  her 
for  enduring  any  longer  the  secret  agonies  that  overwhelmed 
her,  it  was  to  guard  her  honor  that  her  wits  were  sharpened 
and,  believing  in  the  adage  that  danger,  when  bravely  faced, 
disappears,  she  entered,  though  with  a  heavy  heart,  into  the 
vagaries  of  Basil,  but,  like  a  premonition  of  evil,  her  dread 
increased  with  every  moment. 

And  now  the  host  announced  to  his  guests  his  intention  of 
leaving  Rome  on  the  morrow  for  his  estate  in  the  Rocca, 
where  an  overpunctilious  overseer  demanded  his  presence. 

Raising  his  goblet  he  pledged  the  beautiful  wife  of  the 
Count  de  Laval.  It  was  a  toast  that  was  eagerly  received  and 
responded  to,  and  even  Hellayne  was  forced  to  appear  joyous, 
for  all  that  her  heart  was  on  the  point  of  breaking. 

She  raised  her  goblet,  a  beautiful  chased  cup  of  gold,  in 
acknowledgment.  But  she  did  not  see  the  ill-omened  smile 
that  flitted  over  the  thin  lips  of  Basil,  and  she  wished  for 
Tristan  as  she  had  never  wished  for  him  before. 

After  a  time  the  guests  quitted  the  banquet  hall  for  the 
moonlit  garden,  and  Basil's  attentions  became  more  and 
more  insistent.  It  was  in  vain  Hellayne's  eyes  strained  for 
her  lord.  He  was  not  to  be  found.  — 

It  was  on  the  following  morning  when  the  horrible  news 
aroused  the  Romans  that  the  young  wife  of  the  strange  lord 
from  Provence  had,  during  the  night,  suddenly  died  at  the 
banquet  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  From  a  friar  whom  he 
chanced  to  pass  on  his  way  to  the  Lateran  Tristan  received 
the  first  news. 


316   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Fra  Geronimo's  face  was  white  as  death,  and  his  limbs 
shook  as  with  a  palsy.  He  had  been  the  confessor  of  the 
Lady  Hellayne,  the  only  visitor  allowed  to  come  near  her. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  tidings?  "  he  cried  in  a  quavering 
voice,  on  beholding  Tristan. 

"  What  tidings?  "  Tristan  returned,  struck  by  the  horror  in 
the  friar's  face. 

"  The  Lady  Hellayne  is  dead!  "  he  said  with  a  sob. 

Tristan  stared  at  him  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  cleft  the 
ground  beside  him.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  bereft  of 
understanding. 

"  Dead?  "  he  gasped  with  a  choking  sensation.  "  What 
is  it  you  say?  " 

"  Well  may  you  doubt  your  ears,"  the  friar  sobbed.  "  But 
Mater  Sanctissima,  it  is  the  truth!  Madonna  Hellayne  is 
dead.  They  found  her  dead  —  early  this  morning  —  in  the 
vineyard  of  the  Lord  Basil." 

"  In  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord  Basil?  "  came  back  the  echo 
from  Tristan's  lips. 

"  There  was  a  feast,  lasting  well  into  the  night.  The  Lady 
Hellayne  took  suddenly  ill.  They  fetched  a  mediciner.  When 
he  arrived  it  was  all  over." 

"  God  of  Heaven !     Where  is  she  now?  " 

"  They  conveyed  her  to  the  palace  of  the  Lord  Laval,  to 
prepare  her  for  interment." 

Without  a  word  Tristan  started  to  break  away  from  the 
friar,  his  head  in  a  whirl,  his  senses  benumbed.  The  latter 
caught  him  betime. 

"  What  would  you  do?  " 

Tristan  stared  at  him  as  one  suddenly  gone  mad. 

"  I  will  see  her." 

"  It  is  impossible !  "  the  friar  replied.  "  You  cannot  see 
her." 

From  Tristan's  eyes  came  a  glare  that  would  have  daunted 
many  a  one  of  greater  physical  prowess  than  his  informant. 


BY  LETHE'S  SHORES  317 

"  Cannot?    Who  is  to  prevent  me?  " 

"  The  man  whom  fate  gave  her  for  mate,"  replied  the  friar. 

"  That  dog  —  " 

"  A  brawl  in  the  presence  of  death?  Would  you  thus  dis 
honor  her  memory?  Would  she  wish  it  so?  " 

For  a  moment  Tristan  stared  at  the  man  before  him  as  if 
he  heard  some  message  from  afar,  the  meaning  of  which  he 
but  faintly  guessed. 

Then  a  blinding  rush  of  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  He 
shook  with  the  agony  of  his  grief  regardless  of  those  who 
passed  and  paused  and  wondered,  while  the  friar's  words  of 
comfort  and  solace  fell  on  unmindful  ears. 

At  last,  heedless  of  his  companion,  heedless  of  his  sur 
roundings,  heedless  of  everything,  he  rushed  away  to  seek 
solitude,  where  he  would  not  see  a  human  face,  not  hear  a 
human  voice. 

He  must  be  alone  with  his  grief,  alone  with  his  Maker.  It 
seemed  to  him  he  was  going  mad.  It  was  all  too  monstrous, 
too  terrible,  too  unbelievable. 

How  was  it  possible  that  one  so  young,  so  strong,  so  beau 
tiful,  should  die? 

Friar  Geronimo  knew  not.  But  his  gaze  had  caused  Tris 
tan  to  shiver  as  in  an  ague. 

He  remembered  the  discourse  of  Basil  and  his  companion 
in  the  galleries  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb. 

Twice  was  he  on  the  point  of  warning  Hellayne  not  to 
attend  Basil's  banquet. 

Each  time  something  had  intervened.  The  warning  had 
remained  unspoken. 

Would  she  have  heeded  it? 

He  gave  a  groan  of  anguish. 

Hellayne  was  dead !  That  was  the  one  all  absorbing  fact 
which  had  taken  possession  of  him,  blotting  out  every  other 
thought,  every  other  consideration. 

She    was    dead — dead  —  dead!    The    hideous    phrase 


318   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

boomed  again  and  again  through  his  distracted  mind.     Com 
pared  with  that  overwhelming  catastrophe  what  signified  the 
Hour,  the  Why  and  the  When.     She  was  dead  —  dead  - 
dead! 

For  hours  he  sat  alone  in  the  solitudes  of  Mount  Aventine, 
where  no  prying  eyes  would  witness  his  grief.  And  the 
storm  which  had  arisen  and  swept  the  Seven  Hilled  City  with 
the  vehemence  of  a  tropical  hurricane  seemed  but  a  feeble 
echo  of  the  tempest  that  raged  within  his  soul. 

She  was  dead  — dead  —  deadr  The  waves  of  the  Tiber 
seemed  to  shout  it  as  they  leapt  up  and  dashed  their  foam 
against  the  rocky  declivities  of  the  Mount  of  Cloisters.  The 
wind  seemed  now  to  moan  it  piteously,  now  to  shriek  it 
fiercely,  as  it  scudded  by,  wrapping  its  invisible  coils  about 
him  and  seeming  intent  on  tearing  him  from  his  resting  place. 

Towards  evening  he  rose  and,  skirting  the  heights,  de 
scended  into  the  city,  dishevelled  and  bedraggled,  yet  caring 
nothing  what  spectacle  he  might  afford.  And  presently  a 
grim  procession  overtook  the  solitary  rambler,  and  at  the 
sight  of  the  black,  cowled  and  visored  forms  that  advanced 
in  the  lurid  light  of  the  waxen  tapers,  Tristan  knelt  in  the 
street  with  head  bowed  till  her  body  had  been  borne  past. 
No  one  heeded  him.  They  carried  her  to  the  church  of  Santa 
Maria  in  Cosmedin,  and  thither  he  followed  presently,  and, 
in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  aisle,  he  crouched, 
while  the  monks  chanted  the  funeral  psalms. 

The  singing  ended  the  friars  departed,  and  those  who  had 
formed  the  cortege  began  to  leave  the  church.  In  an  hour 
he  was  alone,  alone  with  the  beloved  dead,  and  there  on  his 
knees  he  remained,  and  no  one  knew  whether,  during  that 
horrid  hour,  he  prayed  or  blasphemed. 

It  may  have  been  toward  the  third  hour  of  the  night  when 
Tristan  staggered  up,  stiff  and  cramped,  from  the  cold  stone. 
Slowly,  in  a  half-dazed  condition,  he  walked  down  the  aisle 
and  gained  the  door  of  the  church.  He  tried  to  open  it,  but 


BY  LETHE'S  SHORES  319 

it  resisted  his  efforts,  and  he  realized  it  was  locked  for  the 
night. 

The  appreciation  of  his  position  afforded  him  not  the 
slightest  dismay.  On  the  contrary,  his  feelings  were  rather 
of  relief.  At  least  there  was  none  other  to  share  his  grief! 
He  had  not  known  whither  he  should  repair,  so  distracted  was 
his  mind,  and  now  chance  or  fate  had  settled  the  matter  for 
him  by  decreeing  that  he  should  remain. 

Tristan  turned  and  slowly  paced  back,  until  he  stood 
beside  the  great,  black  catafalque,  at  each  corner  of  which  a 
tall  wax  taper  was  burning.  His  steps  rang  with  a  hollow 
sound  through  the  vast,  gloomy  spaces  of  the  cold  and  empty 
church.  But  these  were  not  matters  to  occupy  his  mind  in 
such  a  season,  no  more  than  the  damp,  chill  air  which  per 
meated  every  nook  and  corner.  Of  all  of  these  he  remained 
unconscious  in  the  absorbing  anguish  that  possessed  his  soul. 

Near  the  foot  of  the  bier  there  was  a  bench,  and  there  he 
took  his  seat  and,  resting  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  took  his 
dishevelled  head  between  his  trembling  hands.  His  thoughts 
were  all  of  her  whose  poor,  murdered  clay  lay  encased  above 
him.  In  turn  he  reviewed  each  scene  of  his  life  where  it  had 
touched  upon  her  own.  He  evoked  every  word  she  had 
spoken  to  him  since  they  had  again  met  on  that  memorable 
night. 

Thus  he  sat,  clenching  his  hands  and  torturing  his  dull  inert 
brain  while  the  night  wore  slowly  on.  Later  a  still  more 
frenzied  mood  obsessed  him,  a  burning  desire  to  look  once 
more  upon  the  sweet  face  he  had  loved  so  well.  What  was 
there  to  prevent  him?  Who  was  there  to  gainsay  him? 

He  arose  and  uttered  aloud  the  challenge  in  his  madness. 
His  voice  echoed  mournfully  along  the  aisles  and  the  sound 
of  the  echoes  chilled  him,  though  his  purpose  gathered 
strength. 

Tristan  advanced,  and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  with  the 
silver  embroidered  hem  of  the  pall  in  his  hands,  suddenly 


320  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

swept  off  that  mantle  of  black  cloth,  setting  up  such  a  gust  of 
wind  as  all  but  quenched  the  tapers.  He  caught  up  the 
bench  upon  which  he  had  been  sitting  and,  dragging  it  for 
ward,  mounted  it  and  stood,  his  chest  on  a  level  with  the 
coffin  lid.  His  trembling  hands  fumbled  along  its  surface. 
He  found  it  unfastened.  Without  thought  or  care  how  he 
went  about  the  thing,  he  raised  it  and  let  it  crash  to  the 
ground.  It  fell  on  the  stone  flags  with  a  noise  like  thunder, 
booming  and  reverberating  through  the  gloomy  vaults. 

A  form  all  in  purest  white  lay  there  beneath  his  gaze,  the 
face  covered  by  a  white  veil.  With  deepest  reverence,  and 
a  prayer  to  her  departed  soul  to  forgive  the  desecration  of  his 
loving  hands,  he  tremblingly  drew  the  veil  aside. 

How  beautiful  she  was  in  the  calm  peace  of  death !  She 
lay  there  like  one  gently  sleeping,  the  faintest  smile  upon  her 
lips,  and,  as  he  gazed,  it  was  hard  to  believe  that  she  was 
truly  dead.  Her  lips  had  lost  nothing  of  their  natural  color. 
They  were  as  red  as  he  had  ever  seen  them  in  life. 

How  could  this  be? 

The  lips  of  the  dead  are  wont  to  assume  a  livid  hue. 

Tristan  stared  for  a  moment,  his  awe  and  grief  almost 
effaced  by  the  intensity  of  his  wonder.  This  face,  so  ivory 
pale,  wore  not  the  ashen  aspect  of  one  that  would  never  wake 
again.  There  was  a  warmth  about  that  pallor.  And  then  he 
bit  his  nether  lip  until  it  bled,  and  it  seemed  a  miracle  that  he 
did  not  scream,  seeing  how  overwrought  were  his  senses. 

For  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  the  draperies  on  her  bosom 
had  slightly  moved,  in  a  gentle,  almost  imperceptible  heave, 
as  if  she  breathed.  He  looked  —  and  there  it  came  again ! 

God !  What  madness  had  seized  upon  him,  that  his  eyes 
should  so  deceive  him !  It  was  the  draught  that  stirred  the 
air  about  the  church,  and  blew  great  shrouds  of  wax  down 
the  taper's  yellow  sides.  He  manned  himself  to  a  more  sober 
mood  and  looked  again. 

And  now  his  doubts  were  all  dispelled.    He  knew  that  he 


BY  LETHE'S  SHORES  321 

had  mastered  any  errant  fancy,  and  that  his  eyes  were  grown 
wise  and  discriminating,  and  he  knew,  too,  that  she  lived! 
Her  bosom  slowly  rose  and  fell;  the  color  of  her  lips,  the  hue 
of  her  cheek,  confirmed  the  assurance  that  she  breathed ! 

He  paused  a  second  to  ponder.  That  morning  her  appear 
ance  had  been  such  that  the  mediciner  had  been  deceived  by 
it  and  had  pronounced  her  dead.  Yet  now  there  were  signs 
of  life!  What  could  it  portend,,  but  that  the  effects  of  a 
poison  were  passing  off  and  that  she  was  recovering? 

In  the  first  wild  excess  of  joy,  that  sent  the  blood  tingling 
and  beating  through  his  brain,  his  first  impulse  was  to  run 
for  help.  Then  Tristan  bethought  himself  of  the  closed  doors 
and  he  realized  that,  no  matter  how  loudly  he  shouted,  no  one 
would  hear  him.  He  must  succour  her  himself  as  best  he 
could,  and  meanwhile  she  must  be  protected  from  the  chill 
night  air  of  the  church,  cold  as  the  air  of  a  tomb.  He  had  his 
cloak,  a  heavy  serviceable  garment,  and,  if  more  were  needed, 
there  was  the  pall  which  he  had  removed,  and  which  lay  in  a 
heap  about  the  legs  of  the  bench. 

Leaning  forward  Tristan  slowly  passed  his  hand  under  her 
head  and  gently  raised  it.  Then,  slipping  it  downward,  he 
thrust  his  arm  after  it,  until  he  had  her  round  the  waist  in  a 
firm  grip.  Thus  he  raised  her  from  the  coffin,  and  the  warmth 
of  her  body  on  his  arms,  the  ready  bending  of  her  limbs, 
were  so  many  added  proofs  that  she  lived. 

Gently  and  reverently  Tristan  raised  the  supple  form  hi 
his  arms,  an  intoxication  of  almost  divine  joy  pervading  him 
as  the  prayers  fell  faster  from  his  lips  than  they  had  ever 
since  he  had  recited  them  on  his  mother's  knee.  He  laid  her 
on  the  bench,  while  he  divested  himself  of  the  cloak. 

Suddenly  he  paused  and  stood  listening  with  bated  breath. 

Steps  were  approaching  from  without. 

Tristan's  first  impulse  was  to  rush  towards  the  door, 
shouting  his  tidings  and  imploring  assistance.  Then,  a 
sudden,  almost  instinctive  dread  caught  and  chilled  him. 


322   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Who  was  it  that  came  at  such  an  hour?  What  would  any 
one  seek  in  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  hi  Cosmedin  at  dead 
of  night?  Was  the  church  indeed  their  goal,  or  were  they 
but  chance  passers-by? 

That  last  question  remained  not  long  unanswered.  The 
steps  came  nearer.  They  paused  before  the  door.  Some 
thing  heavy  was  hurled  against  it.  Then  some  one  spoke. 

"  It  is  locked,  Tebaldo !     Get  out  your  tools  and  force  it!  " 

Tristan's  wits  were  working  at  fever  pace.  It  may  have 
been  that  he  was  swift  of  thought  beyond  any  ordinary  man, 
or  it  may  have  been  a  flash  of  inspiration,  or  a  conclusion  to 
which  he  leapt  by  instinct.  But  hi  that  moment  the  whole 
problematical  plot  was  revealed  to  him.  Poisoned  forsooth 
she  had  been,  but  by  a  drug  that  but  produced  for  a  time  the 
outward  appearance  of  death,  so  truly  simulated  as  even  to 
deceive  the  most  learned  of  doctors.  Tristan  had  heard  of 
such  poisons,  and  here,  in  very  truth,  was  one  of  them  at 
work.  Some  one,  no  doubt,  intended  secretly  to  bear  her 
off.  And  to-morrow,  when  men  found  a  broken  church  door 
and  a  violated  bier,  they  would  set  the  sacrilege  down  to 
some  wizard  who  had  need  of  the  body  for  his  dark  practices. 

Tristan  cursed  himself  in  that  dark  hour.  Had  he  but 
peered  earlier  into  her  coffin  while  yet  there  might  have  been 
time  to  save  her.  And  now?  The  sweat  stood  out  hi  beads 
upon  his  brow.  At  that  door  there  were,  to  judge  by  the 
sound  of  their  footsteps  and  voices,  some  five  or  six  men. 
For  a  weapon  he  had  only  his  dagger.  What  could  he  do  to 
defend  her?  Basil's  plans  would  suffer  no  defeat  through  his 
discovery  when  to-morrow  the  sacrilege  was  revealed.  His 
own  body,  laying  cold  and  stark  beside  the  desolated  bier, 
would  be  but  an  incident  in  the  work  of  profanation  they 
would  find;  an  item  that  in  no  wise  could  modify  the  con 
clusion  at  which  they  would  naturally  arrive. 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE    DEATH   WATCH 

STRANGE  and  mysterious 
thing  is  the  working  of  terror 
on  the  human  mind.  Some  it 
renders  incapable  of  thought  or 
action,  paralyzing  their  limbs 
and  stagnating  the  blood  in 
their  veins;  such  creatures  die 
in  anticipating  death.  Others, 
under  the  stress  of  that  grim 
emotion  have  their  wits  preter- 
naturally  sharpened.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation 
assumes  command  and  urges  them  to  swift  and  feverish 
action. 

After  a  moment  of  terrible  suspense  Tristan's  hands  fell 
limply  beside  him.  At  the  next  he  was  himself  again.  His 
cheeks  were  livid,  his  lips  bloodless.  But  his  hands  were 
steady  and  his  wits  under  control. 

Concealment  —  concealment  for  Hellayne  and  himself  - 
was  the  thing  that  now  imported,  and  no  sooner  was  the 
thought  conceived  than  the  means  were  devised.     Slender 
means  they  were,  yet  since  they  were  the  best  the  place 
afforded,  he  must  trust  to  them  without  demurring,  and  pray 
to  God  that  the  intruders  might  lack  the  wit  to  search.     And 
with  that  fresh  hope  it  came  to  him  that  he  must  find  a  way 
as  to  make  them  believe  that  to  search  would  be  a  waste  of 
effort. 
The  odds  against  him  lay  in  the  little  time  at  his  disposal. 


324  UNDER  THE  WITCHES*  MOON 

Yet  a  little  time  there  was.  The  door  was  stout,  and  those 
outside  might  not  resort  to  violent  means  to  break  it  open 
lest  the  noise  arouse  the  street. 

With  what  tools  the  sbirri  were  at  work  he  could  not  guess, 
but  surely  they  must  be  such  as  to  leave  him  but  a  few 
moments.  Already  they  had  begun.  He  could  distinguish 
a  crunching  sound  as  of  steel  biting  into  wood. 

Swiftly  and  silently  Tristan  set  to  work.  Like  a  ghost  he 
glided  round  the  coffin's  side,  where  the  lid  was  lying.  He 
raised  it  and,  after  he  had  deposited  Hellayne  on  the  ground, 
mounted  the  bench  and  replaced  it. '  Next  he  gathered  up 
the  cumbrous  pall  and,  mounting  the  bench  once  more,  spread 
it  over  the  coffin.  This  way  and  that  he  pulled  it,  until  it 
appeared  undisturbed  as  when  he  had  entered. 

What  time  he  toiled,  the  half  of  his  mind  intent  upon  his 
task,  the  other  half  was  as  intent  upon  the  progress  of  the 
workers  at  the  door. 

At  last  it  was  done.  Tristan  replaced  the  bench  at  the 
foot  of  the  catafalque  and,  gathering  up  the  woman  in  his 
arms,  as  though  her  weight  had  been  that  of  a  feather,  he 
bore  her  swiftly  out  of  the  radius  of  the  four  tapers  into  the 
black,  impenetrable  gloom  beyond.  On  he  sped  towards  the 
high  altar,  flying  now  as  men  fly  in  evil  dreams,  with  the 
sensation  of  an  enemy  upon  them,  and  their  progress  a  mere 
stand  still. 

Thus  he  gamed  the  chancel,  stumbling  against  the  railing 
as  he  passed,  and  pausing  for  an  instant,  wondering  whether 
those  outside  had  heard.  But  the  grinding  sound  continued 
and  he  breathed  more  freely.  He  mounted  the  altar  stairs, 
the  distant  light  behind  him  feebly  guiding  him  on,  then  he 
ran  round  to  the  right  and  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  relief  upon 
rinding  his  hopes  realized.  The  altar  stood  a  pace  or  so 
from  the  wall,  and  behind  it  there  was  just  such  a  conceal 
ment  as  he  had  hoped  to  find. 

Tristan  paused  at  the  mouth  of  that  black  well,  and  even 


THE  DEATH  WATCH  325 

as  he  paused  something  that  gave  out  a  metallic  sound, 
dropped  at  the  far  end  of  the  church.  Intuition  informed 
him  that  it  was  the  lock  which  the  miscreants  had  cut  from 
the  door.  He  waited  no  longer,  but  like  a  deer  scudding  to 
cover,  plunged  into  the  dark  abyss. 

Hellayne,  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  as  she  was,  he  placed  on 
the  ground,  then  crept  forward  on  hands  and  knees  and 
thrust  out  his  head,  trusting  to  the  darkness  to  conceal  him. 

He  waited  thus  for  a  time,  his  heart  beating  almost  audibly 
in  the  intermittent  silence,  his  head  and  face  on  fire  with  the 
fever  of  sudden  reaction. 

From  his  point  of  vantage  it  was  impossible  for  Tristan  to 
see  the  door  that  was  hidden  in  the  black  gloom.  Away  in 
the  centre  of  the  church,  an  island  of  light  in  that  vast  well 
of  blackness,  stood  the  catafalque  with  its  four  waxen  tapers. 
Something  creaked,  and  almost  immediately  he  saw  the 
flames  of  those  tapers  bend  toward  him,  beaten  over  by  the 
gust  that  smote  them  from  the  door.  Thus  he  surmised  that 
Tebaldo  and  his  men  had  entered.  Their  soft  foot-fall,  for 
they  were  treading  lightly  now,  succeeded,  and  at  last  they 
took  shape,  shadowy  at  first,  then  clearly  defined,  as  they 
emerged  within  the  circle  of  the  light. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  in  half  whispered  conversation, 
their  voices  a  mere  boom  of  sound  in  which  no  words  were 
to  be  distinguished.  Then  Tristan  saw  Tebaldo  step  forward, 
and  by  his  side  another  he  knew  by  his  great  height  —  Gamba, 
the  deposed  captain.  Tebaldo  dragged  away,  even  as  Tris 
tan  had  done,  the  pall  that  hid  the  coffin.  Next  he  seized 
the  bench  and  gave  a  brisk  order  to  his  men. 

"  Spread  a  cloth!" 

In  obedience  to  his  command,  the  four  who  were  with  him 
spread  a  cloak  among  them,  each  holding  one  of  its  corners. 
Apparently  they  intended  to  carry  away  the  dead  body  in 
this  manner. 

The  sbirro  now  mounted  the  bench  and  started  to  remove 


326  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

the  coffin  lid,  when  a  blasphemous  cry  of  rage  broke  from 
his  lips  that  defied  utterly  the  sanctity  of  the  place. 

"  By  the  body  of  Christ!    The  coffin  is  empty!  "  - 

It  was  the  roar  of  an  enraged  beast  and  was  succeeded  by 
a  heavy  crash,  as  he  let  fall  the  coffin  lid.  A  second  later  a 
second  crash  waked  the  midnight  echoes  of  that  silent  place. 

In  a  burst  of  maniacal  fury  he  had  hurled  the  coffin  from 
its  trestles. 

Then  he  leaped  down  from  the  bench  and  flung  all  caution 
to  the  winds  in  the  rage  that  possessed  him. 

"  It  is  a  trick  of  the  devil,"  he  shouted.  "  They  have  laid 
a  trap  for  us,  and  you  have  never  even  informed  yourselves." 

There  was  foam  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  the  veins 
had  swollen  on  his  forehead,  and  from  the  mad  bulging  of 
his  eyes  spoke  fury  and  abject  terror.  Bully  as  Tebaldo  was, 
he  could,  on  occasion,  become  a  coward. 

"  Away !  "  he  shouted  to  his  men.  "  Look  to  your  weapons! 
Away ! " 

Gamba  muttered  something  under  his  breath,  words  the 
listener's  ear  could  not  catch.  If  it  were  a  suggestion  that 
the  church  should  be  searched,  ere  they  abandoned  it  I  But 
Tebaldo's  answer  speedily  relieved  his  fears. 

"  I'll  take  no  chances,"  he  barked.  "  Let  us  go  separately. 
Myself  first  and  do  you  follow  and  get  clear  of  this  quarter  as 
best  you  may." 

Scarcely  had  the  echoes  of  his  footsteps  died  away,  ere 
the  others  followed  in  a  rush,  fearful  of  being  caught  hi 
some  trap  that  was  here  laid  for  them,  and  restrained  from 
flying  on  the  instant  but  by  their  still  greater  fear  of  their 
master. 

Thanking  Heaven  for  this  miraculous  deliverance,  and  for 
his  own  foresight  in  so  arranging  matters  as  to  utterly  mis 
lead  the  ravishers,  Tristan  now  devoted  his  whole  attention  to 
Hellayne.  Her  breathing  had  become  deeper  and  more 
regular,  so  that  in  all  respects  she  resembled  one  sunk  into 


THE  DEATH  WATCH  327 

healthful  slumber.  He  hoped  she  would  waken  before  the 
elapse  of  many  moments,  for  to  try  to  bear  her  away  in  his 
arms  would  have  been  sheer  madness.  And  now  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  should  have  restoratives  ready  for  the  time  of 
her  regaining  consciousness.  Inspiration  suggested  to  him 
the  wine  that  should  be  stored  hi  the  sacristy  for  altar  pur 
poses.  It  was  unconsecrated,  and  there  could  be  no  sacri 
lege  in  using  it. 

He  crept  round  to  the  front  of  the  altar.  At  the  angle  a 
candle  branch  protruded  at  the  height  of  his  head.  It  held 
some  three  or  four  tapers  and  was  so  placed  as  to  enable  the 
priest  to  read  his  missal  at  early  Mass  on  dark  winter  morn 
ings.  Tristan  plucked  one  of  the  candles  from  its  socket  and, 
hastening  down  the  church,  lighted  it  from  one  of  the  burning 
tapers  of  the  bier.  Screening  it  with  his  hand  he  retraced 
his  steps  and  regained  the  chancel.  Then,  turning  to  the 
left,  he  made  for  a  door  which  gave  access  to  the  sacristy. 
It  yielded  and  he  passed  down  a  short,  stone  flagged  passage 
and  entered  a  spacious  chamber  beyond. 

An  oak  settle  was  placed  against  one  wall,  and  above  it 
hung  an  enormous,  rudely  carved  crucifix.  On  a  bench  in  a 
corner  stood  a  basin  and  ewer  of  metal,  while  a  few  vestments, 
suspended  beside  these,  completed  the  appointments  of  the 
austere  and  white-washed  chamber.  Placing  his  candle  on 
a  cupboard,  he  opened  one  of  the  drawers.  It  was  full  of 
garments  of  different  kinds,  among  which  he  noticed  several 
monks'  habits.  Tristan  rummaged  to  the  bottom,  only  to 
find  therein  some  odd  pairs  of  sandals. 

Disappointed,  Tristan  closed  the  drawer  and  tried  another, 
with  no  better  fortune.  Here  were  undervests  of  fine  linen, 
newly  washed  and  fragrant  with  rosemary.  He  abandoned 
the  chest  and  gave  his  attention  to  the  cupboard.  It  was 
locked,  but  the  key  was  there.  Tristan's  candle  reflected  a 
blaze  of  gold  and  silver  vessels,  consecrated  chalices,  and 
several  richly  carved  ciboria  of  solid  gold,  set  with  precious 


328  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

stones.  But  in  a  corner  he  discovered  a  dark  brown,  gourd- 
shaped  object.  It  was  a  skin  of  wine  and,  with  a  half- 
suppressed  cry  of  joy,  he  seized  upon  it. 

At  that  moment  a  piercing  scream  rang  through  the  stillness 
of  the  church  and  startled  him  so  that  for  some  moments  he 
stood  frozen  with  terror,  a  hundred  wild  conjectures  leaping 
into  his  brain. 

Had  the  ruffians  remained  hidden  in  the  church?  Had 
they  returned?  Did  the  screams  imply  that  Hellayne  had 
been  awakened  by  their  hands? 

A  second  tune  it  came,  and  now  it  seemed  to  break  the 
hideous  spell  that  its  first  utterance  had  cast  over  him. 
Dropping  the  leathern  bottle  he  sped  back,  down  the  stone 
passage  to  the  door  that  abutted  on  the  church. 

There,  by  the  high  altar,  Tristan  saw  a  form  that  seemed 
at  first  but  a  phantom,  hi  which  he  presently  recognized 
Hellayne,  the  dim  rays  of  the  distant  tapers  searching  out 
the  white  robe  with  which  her  limbs  were  draped.  She  was 
alone,  and  he  knew  at  once  that  it  was  but  the  natural  fear 
consequent  upon  awakening  hi  such  a  place,  that  had  evoked 
the  cry  he  had  heard. 

"  Hellayne !  "  he  called,  advancing  swiftly  to  reassure  her. 
"  Hellayne !  " 

There  was  a  gasp,  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Tristan?  "  she  cried  questioningly.  "  What  has  hap 
pened?  Why  am  I  here?  " 

He  was  beside  her  now  and  found  her  trembling  like  an 
aspen. 

"  Something  horrible  has  happened,  my  Hellayne,"  he 
replied.  "  But  it  is  over  now,  and  the  evil  is  averted." 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  insisted,  pale  as  death.  "  Why  am  I 
here?  » 

"  You  shall  learn  presently." 

He  stooped,  to  gather  up  the  cloak,  which  had  slipped  from 
her  shoulders. 


THE  DEATH  WATCH  329 

"  Do  you  wrap  this  about  you,"  he  urged,  assisting  her  with 
his  own  hands.  "  Are  you  faint,  Hellayne?  " 

"  I  scarce  know,"  she  answered,  in  a  frightened  voice. 
"  There  is  a  black  horror  upon  me.  Tell  me,"  she  implored 
again,  "  Why  am  I  here?  What  does  it  all  mean?  " 

He  drew  her  away  now,  promising  to  tell  her  everything 
once  she  were  out  of  these  forbidding  surroundings.  He 
assisted  her  to  the  sacristy  and,  seating  her  upon  a  settle, 
produced  the  wine  skin.  At  first  she  babbled  like  a  child, of 
not  being  thirsty,  but  he  insisted. 

"  It  is  not  a  matter  of  quenching  your  thirst,  dearest  Hel 
layne.  The  wine  will  warm  and  revive  you !  Come,  dearest 
-drink!" 

She  obeyed  him  now,  and  having  got  the  first  gulp  down 
her  throat,  she  took  a  long  draught,  which  soon  produced  a 
healthier  color,  driving  the  ashen  pallor  from  her  cheeks. 

"  I  am  cold,  Tristan,"  she  shuddered. 

He  turned  to  the  drawer  in  which  he  had  espied  the  monks' 
habits  and  pulling  one  out,  held  it  for  her  to  put  on.  She  sat 
there  now  in  that  garment  of  coarse  black  cloth,  the  cowl 
flung  back  upon  her  shoulder,  the  fairest  postulant  that  ever 
entered  upon  a  novitiate. 

"  You  are  good  to  me,  Tristan,"  she  murmured  plaintively, 
"  and  I  have  used  you  very  ill !  You  do  not  love  that  other 
woman?  "  She  paused,  passing  her  hand  across  her  brow. 

"  Only  you,  dearest  — only  you!" 

"  What  is  the  hour?  "  she  turned  to  him  suddenly. 

It  was  a  matter  he  left  unheeded.  He  bade  her  brace 
herself,  and  take  courage  to  listen  to  what  he  was  about  to 
tell.  He  assured  her  that  the  horror  of  it  all  was  passed  and 
that  she  had  naught  to  fear. 

"  But  —  how  came  I  here?  "  she  cried.  "  I  must  have  lain 
in  a  swoon,  for  I  remember  nothing." 

And  then  her  quick  mind,  leaping  to  a  reasonable  con 
clusion,  and  assisted  perhaps  by  the  memory  of  the  shattered 


330  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

catafalque  which  she  had  seen,  her  eyes  dilating  with  a 
curious  affright  as  they  were  turned  upon  his  own,  she  asked 
of  a  sudden; 

"  Did  you  believe  that  I  was  dead?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  with  an  unnatural  calm  in  his  voice. 
"  Every  one  believed  you  were  dead,  Hellayne." 

And  with  this  he  told  her  the  entire  story  of  what  had 
befallen,  saving  only  his  own  part  therein,  nor  did  he  try  to 
explain  his  own  opportune  presence  in  the  church.  When  he 
spoke  of  the  coming  of  Tebaldo  and  his  men  she  shuddered 
and  closed  her  eyes.  Only  after  he  had  concluded  his  tale 
did  she  turn  them  full  upon  him.  Their  brightness  seemed 
to  increase,  and  now  he  saw  that  she  was  weeping. 

"  And  you  were  there  to  save  me,  Tristan?  "  she  murmured 
brokenly.  "  Oh,  Tristan,  it  seems  that  you  are  ever  at  hand 
when  I  have  need  of  you!  You  are,  indeed,  my  one  true 
friend  —  the  one  true  friend  that  never  fails  me !  " 

"  Are  you  feeling  stronger,  Hellayne?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Yes  —  I  am  stronger!  " 

She  rose  as  if  to  test  her  strength. 

"  Indeed  little  ails  me  save  the  horror  of  this  thing.  The 
thought  of  it  seems  to  turn  me  sick  and  dizzy." 

"  Sit  then  and  rest!  "  he  enjoined.  "  Presently,  when  you 
feel  equal  to  it,  we  shall  start  out!  " 

"  Whither  shall  we  go?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why  —  to  the  abode  of  your  liege  lord." 

"  Why  —  yes  —  "  she  answered  at  length,  as  though  it  had 
been  the  last  suggestion  she  had  expected.  "  And  when  he 
returns,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  he  will  owe  you  no  small 
thanks  for  your  solicitude  on  my  behalf." 

There  was  a  pause.  A  hundred  thoughts  thronged  Tristan's 
mind. 

Presently  she  spoke  again. 

"  Tristan,"  she  inquired  very  gently,  "  what  was  it  that 
brought  you  to  the  church?  " 


THE  DEATH  WATCH  331 

"  I  came  with  the  others,  Hellayne,"  he  replied,  and, 
fearing  such  questions  as  might  follow  —  questions  he  had 
been  dreading  ever  since  he  brought  her  to  the  sacristy,  he 
said: 

"  If  you  are  recovered,  we  had  better  set  out." 

"  I  am  not  yet  sufficiently  recovered,"  she  replied.  "  And, 
before  we  go,  there  are  a  few  points  in  this  strange  adventure 
that  I  would  have  you  make  clear  to  me !  Meanwhile  we 
are  very  well  here !  If  the  good  fathers  do  come  upon  us, 
what  shall  it  signify?  "  - 

Tristan  groaned  inwardly  and  grew  more  afraid  than  when 
Basil's  men  had  broken  into  the  church  an  hour  ago. 

"  What  detained  you  after  all  had  gone?" 

"  I  remained  to  pray,"  he  answered,  with  a  sense  of  irrita 
tion  at  her  persistence.  "  What  else  was  there  to  do  in  a 
church?  " 

"  To  pray  for  me?  " 

"  Assuredly." 

"  Dear,  faithful  heart,"  she  murmured.  "  And  I  have  used 
you  so  cruelly.  But  you  merited  my  cruelty  —  Tristan ! 
Say  that  you  did,  else  must  I  perish  of  remorse." 

"  Perchance  I  deserved  it,"  he  replied.  "  But  perchance 
not  so  much  as  you  bestowed ,  had  you  understood  my  mo 
tives,"  he  said  unguardedly. 

' '  If  I  had  understood  your  motives  ?  "  she  mused.     "  Ay  — 

there  is  much  I  do  not  understand!     Even  in   this  night's 

business  there  are  not  wanting  things  that  remain  mysterious, 

despite  the  elucidations  you  have  supplied.     Tell  me,  Tristan 

-  what  was  it  that  caused  you  to  believe,  that  I  still  lived?  " 

"  I  did  not  believe  it,"  he  blundered  like  a  fool,  never 
seeing  whither  her  question  led. 

"  You  did  not?  "  she  cried,  with  deep  surprise,  and  now, 
when  it  was  too  late,  he  understood.  "  What  was  it  then 
that  induced  you,  to  lift  the  coffin  lid?  "  - 

"  You  ask  me  more  than  I  can  tell  you,"  he  answered 


332   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

almost  roughly,  for  fear  lest  the  monks  would  come  at  any 
moment. 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  were  singularly  luminous. 

"  But  I  must  know,"  she  insisted.  "  Have  I  not  the 
right?  Tell  me  now!  Was  it  that  you  wished  to  see  my 
face  once  more  before  they  gave  me  over  to  the  grave?  " 

"  Perchance  it  was,  Hellayne,"  he  answered.  Then  he 
suggested  their  going,  but  she  never  heeded  his  anxiety. 

"  Do  you  love  me  then  so  much,  dearest  Tristan?  " 

He  swung  round  to  her  now,  and  he  knew  that  his  face  was 
white,  whiter  than  the  woman's  had  been  when  he  had  seen 
her  in  the  coffin.  His  eyes  seemed  to  burn  in  their  sockets. 
A  madness  seized  upon  him  and  completely  mastered  him. 
He  had  undergone  so  much  that  day  of  grief,  and  that  night 
the  victim  of  a  hundred  emotions,  that  he  no  longer  con 
trolled  himself.  As  it  was,  her  words  robbed  him  of  the  last 
lingering  restraint. 

"  Love  you?  "  he  replied,  in  a  voice  that  was  unlike  his 
own.  "  You  are  dearer  to  me  than  all  I  have,  all  I  am,  all  I 
ever  hope  to  be !  You  are  the  guardian  angel  of  my  exist 
ence,  the  saint  to  whom  I  have  turned  mornings  and  evenings 
in  my  prayers !  I  love  you  more  than  life !  " 

He  paused,  staggered  by  his  own  climax.  The  thought  of 
what  he  had  said  and  what  the  consequences  must  be,  rushed 
suddenly  upon  him.  He  shivered  as  a  man  may  shiver  in 
waking  from  a  trance.  He  dropped  upon  his  knees  before 
her. 

"  Forgive,"  he  entreated.    "  Forgive  —  and  forget!  " 

"  Neither  forgive  nor  forget  will  I,"  came  her  voice, 
charged  with  an  ineffable  sweetness,  such  as  he  had  never 
before  heard  from  her  lips,  and  her  hands  lay  softly  on  his 
bowed  head  as  if  she  would  bless  and  soothe  him.  "  I  am 
conscious  of  no  offence  that  craves  forgiveness,  and  what 
you  have  said  to  me  I  would  not  forget  if  I  could.  Whence 
springs  this  fear  of  yours,  dear  Tristan?  Has  not  he  to 


THE  DEATH  WATCH  333 

whom  I  once  bound  myself  in  a  thoughtless  moment,  he 
who  never  understood,  or  cared  to  understand  my  nature, 
he  whose  cruelty  and  neglect  have  made  me  what  I  am  to-day, 
lost  every  right,  human  or  divine?  Am  I  more  than  a  woman 
and  are  you  less  than  a  man  that  you  should  tremble  for  the 
confession  which,  in  a  wild  moment,  I  have  dragged  from 
you?  For  that  wild  moment  I  shall  be  thankful  to  my  life's 
end,  for  your  words  have  been  the  sweetest  that  my  poor 
ears  have  ever  listened  to.  I  count  you  the  truest  friend  and 
the  noblest  lover  the  world  has  ever  known.  Need  it  sur 
prise  you  then,  that  I  love  you,  and  that  mine  would  be  a 
happy  life  if  I  might  spend  it  in  growing  worthy  of  this  noble 
love  of  yours?  " 

There  was  a  choking  sensation  in  his  throat  and  tears  in 
his  eyes.  Transport  the  blackest  soul  from  among  the 
damned  in  Hell,  wash  it  white  of  its  sins  and  seat  it  upon 
one  of  the  glorious  thrones  of  Heaven,  —  such  were  the 
emotions  that  surged  through  his  soul.  At  last  he  found  his 
tongue. 

"  Dearest,"  he  said,  "  bethink  yourself  of  what  you  say! 
You  are  still  his  wife  —  and  the  Church  grants  no  severance 
of  the  bonds  that  have  united  two  for  better  or  worse." 

"  Then  shall  we  see  the  Holy  Father.  He  is  just  and  he 
v/ill  be  merciful.  Will  you  take  me,  Tristan,  no  matter  to 
what  odd  shifts  a  cruel  Fortune  may  drive  us?  Will  you  take 
rne?" 

She  held  his  face  between  her  palms  and  forced  his  eyes 
to  meet  her  eyes. 

"  Will  you  take  me,  Tristan?  "  she  said  again. 

"  Hellayne  —  " 

It  was  all  he  could  say. 

Then  a  great  sadness  overwhelmed  him,  a  tide  that  swept 
the  frail  bark  of  happiness  high  and  dry  upon  the  shores  of 
black  despair. 


334  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  To-morrow,  Hellayne,  you  will  be  what  you  were  yester 
day." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  she  said,  a  slight  flutter  in  her 
tone.  "But— Hellayne  is  dead.  —  We  must  so  dispose  that 
they  will  let  her  rest  in  peace."  — 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE   CONVENT   IN   TRASTEVERE 


E  stared  at  her  speechless,  so 
taken  was  he  with  the  immen 
sity  of  the  thing  she  had  sug 
gested.  Fear,  wonder,  joy 
seemed  to  contend  for  the 
mastery. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so, 
Tristan? "    she    said    at    last. 
"  What  is  it  that  daunts  you?  " 
"  But  how  is  this  thing  pos 
sible?  "  he  stammered,  still  hi  a  state  of  bewilderment. 

"  What  difficulty  does  it  present?  "  she  returned.  "  The 
Lord  Basil  himself  has  rendered  very  possible  what  I  suggest. 
We  may  look  on  him  to-morrow  as  our  best  friend  —  " 
"  But  Tebaldo  knows,"  he  interposed. 
"  True !  Deem  you,  he  will  dare  to  tell  the  world  what  he 
knows?  He  might  be  asked  to  tell  how  he  came  by  his 
knowledge.  And  that  might  prove  a  difficult  question  to 
answer.  Tell  me,  Tristan,"  she  continued,  "  if  he  had 
succeeded  in  carrying  me  away,  what  deem  you  would  have 
been  said  to-morrow  in  Rome  when  the  coffin  was  found 
empty?  "  - 

"  They  would  naturally  assume  that  your  body  had  been 
stolen  by  some  wizard  or  some  daring  doctor  of  anatomy." 

"  Ah !  And  if  we  were  quietly  to  quit  the  church  and  be 
clear  of  Rome  before  morning  —  would  not  the  same  be 
said?  " 


336  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

He  pondered  a  while,  staggered  by  the  immensity  of  the 
risk,  when  suddenly  a  memory  flashed  through  his  mind  that 
left  his  limbs  numb  as  if  they  had  been  paralyzed  by  a  thunder 
bolt. 

It  was  the  night  on  which  the  terrible  crime  at  the  Lateran 
was  to  be  committed.  Even  now  it  could  not  be  far  from  the 
midnight  hour.  Did  he  dare,  even  for  the  consideration  of 
the  greatest  happiness  which  the  world  and  life  had  to  give, 
to  forego  his  duty  towards  the  Church  and  the  Senator  of 
Rome?  " 

Hellayne  noted  his  hesitancy. 

"  Why  do  you  waste  precious  moments,  Tristan?  "  she 
queried.  "  Is  it  that  you  do  not  love  me  enough?  " 

A  negative  gesture  came  in  response,  and  his  eyes  told  her 
more  than  words  could  have  expressed. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"  If  I  hesitate,"  he  said,  trying  to  avoid  the  real  issue, 
instead  of  stating  it  without  circumlocution,  "  it  is  because  I 
would  not  have  you  do  now  of  what,  hereafter,  you  might 
repent.  I  would  not  have  you  be  misled  by  the  impluse  of  a 
moment  into  an  act  whose  consequences  must  endure  while 
life  endures." 

"  Is  that  the  reasoning  of  love?  "  she  said  very  quietly. 
"  Is  this  cold  argument,  this  weighing  of  issues  consistent 
with  the  hot  passion  you  professed  so  lately?  " 

"  It  is,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  because  I  love  you  more  than 
I  love  myself,  that  I  would  have  you  ponder,  ere  you  adven 
ture  your  life  upon  a  broken  raft  such  as  mine.  You  are  still 
the  wife  of  another." 

"  No! "she  replied, her  eyes  preternaturally  brilliant  in  the 
intensity  of  her  emotion.  "  Hellayne,  the  wife  of  Roger  de 
Laval,  is  dead — as  dead  to  him,  as  if  she  in  reality  were 
bedded  in  the  coffin.  Where  is  he?  Where  is  the  man  who 
should  have  been  where  you  are,  Tristan?  I  venture  to  say 
his  grief  did  not  overburden  him.  He  will  find  ready  con- 


CONVENT  IN  TRASTEVERE     337 

solation  in  the  arms  of  another  for  the  wife  who  was  to  him 
but  the  plaything  of  his  idle  hours.  He  never  loved  me !  He 
even  threatened  to  shut  me  up  within  convent  walls  for  the 
rest  of  my  days  if  I  did  not  return  with  him  —  his  mistress, 
—  his  wife  but  in  a  name,  a  thing  to  submit  to  his  loathsome 
kisses  and  caresses,  while  her  soul  is  another's.  He  him 
self  and  death,  which  perchance  he  himself  decreed,  have 
severed  bonds  no  persuasion  would  have  tempted  me  to 
break.  Tristan,  I  am  yours  —  take  me." 

She  held  out  her  beautiful  arms. 

He  was  in  mortal  torment. 

"  Nevertheless,  Hellayne,  to-night  of  all  nights  it  may  not 
be  —  "  he  stammered.  "  Listen,  dearest  —  " 

"Enough!"  she  silenced  him,  as  she  rose.  She  swept 
towards  him  and,  before  he  knew  it,  her  hands  were  on  his 
shoulders,  her  face  up  turned,  her  blue  eyes  holding  his  own, 
depriving  him  of  will  and  resistance. 

"  Tristan,"  she  said,  and  there  was  an  intensity  almost 
fierce  in  her  tones,  "  moments  are  fleeting,  and  you  stand 
there  reasoning  with  me  and  bidding  me  weigh  what  already 
is  weighed  for  all  time.  Will  you  wait  until  escape  is  ren 
dered  impossible,  until  we  are  discovered,  before  you  will 
decide  to  save  me  and  to  grasp  with  both  hands  the  happiness 
that  is  yours;  this  happiness  that  is  not  twice  offered  in  a 
lifetime?  " 

She  was  so  close  to  him  that  he  could  almost  feel  the 
beating  of  her  heart.  He  was  now  as  wax  in  her  hands. 
Forgotten  were  all  considerations  of  rank  and  station.  They 
were  just  man  and  woman  whose  fates  were  linked  together 
irrevocably.  Under  the  sway  of  an  impulse  he  could  not 
resist,  he  kissed  her  upturned  face, her  lips, her  eyes.  Then 
he  broke  from  her  clasp  and,  bracing  himself  for  the  task  to 
which  they  stood  committed  by  that  act,  he  said,  the  words 
tumbling  from  his  lips : 

"  Hellayne,  we  know  not  who  is  abroad  to-night.    We 


338  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

know  not  what  dangers  are  lurking  in  the  shadows.  Tebaldo 
and  his  men  may  even  now  be  scouring  the  streets  of  Rome 
for  a  fugitive,  and  once  in  their  power  all  the  saints  could  not 
save  us  from  our  doom.  I  know  not  the  object  of  this  plot 
of  which  you  were  the  victim,  and  even  the  Lord  Roger  may 
be  but  the  dupe  of  another.  I  will  take  you  to  the  convent 
of  the  Blessed  Sisters  of  Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere,  that 
you  may  dwell  there  in  safety  until  I  have  ascertained  that 
all  danger  is  past.  You  shall  enter  as  my  sister,  trying  to 
escape  the  attention  of  an  unwelcome  suitor.  But  the  thing 
that  chiefly  exercises  my  mind  now  is  how  to  make  our  escape 
unobserved." 

Hellayne  nodded  dreamily. 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  already." 

"  You  have  thought  of  it?  "  he  replied.  "  And  of  what 
have  you  thought?  " 

For  answer  she  stepped  back  a  pace  and  drew  the  cowl  of 
the  monk's  habit  over  her  head  until  her  features  were  lost 
in  the  shadows.  Her  meaning  was  clear  to  him  at  once. 
With  a  cry  of  relief  he  turned  to  the  drawer  whence  he  had 
taken  the  habit  in  which  she  was  arrayed  and,  selecting 
another,  he  hastily  donned  it  above  the  garments  he  wore. 

No  sooner  was  it  done  than  he  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.    Moments  were  flying. 

If  he  should  be  too  late  at  the  Lateran ! 

"  Come !  "  he  said  in  an  urgent  voice. 

At  the  first  step  she  stumbled.  The  habit  was  so  long 
that  it  cumbered  her  feet.  But  that  was  a  difficulty  soon 
overcome.  Without  regarding  the  omen,  he  cut  with  his 
dagger  a  piece  from  the  skirt,  enough  to  leave  her  freedom 
of  movement  and,  this  accomplished,  they  set  out. 

They  crossed  the  church  swiftly  and  silently,then  entered 
the  porch,  where  he  left  her  in  order  to  peer  out  upon  the 
street.  All  was  quiet.  Rome  was  wrapt  hi  sleep.  From  the 
moon  he  gleaned  it  wanted  less  than  an  hour  to  midnight. 


CONVENT  IN  TRASTEVERE     339 

Drawing  their  cowls  about  their  faces,  they  abandoned  the 
main  streets,  Tristan  conducting  his  charge  through  narrow 
alleys,  deserted  of  the  living.  These  lanes  were  dark  and 
steep,  the  moonlight  being  unable  to  penetrate  the  chasms 
formed  between  the  tall,  ill-favored  houses.  They  stumbled 
frequently,  and  in  some  places  he  carried  her  almost  bodily, 
to  avoid  the  filth  of  the  quarter  they  were  traversing. 

The  night  was  solemn  and  beautiful.  Myriads  of  stars 
paved  the  deep  vault  of  heaven.  The  moon,  now  in  her 
zenith,  hung  like  a  silver  lamp  hi  the  midst  of  them;  a  stream 
of  quivering,  rosy  light,  issuing  from  the  north,  traversed  the 
sky  like  the  tail  of  some  stupendous  comet,  sending  forth, 
ever  and  anon,  corruscations  like  flaming  meteors. 

At  last  they  reached  the  Transtiberine  region  and  the 
convent  of  Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere  hove  into  sight.  The 
range  of  habitations  around  were  in  a  ruinous  state  and  the 
whole  aspect  of  the  region  was  so  dismal  as  to  encourage 
but  few  ramblers  to  venture  there  after  nightfall. 

Passing  through  the  ill-famed  quarter  of  the  Sclavonians, 
where, in  after  tune, one  of  the  blackest  crimes  in  history  was 
committed,  Tristan  and  Hellayne  at  last  arrived  before  the 
gates  of  the  convent.  They  had  spoken  but  little,  dreading 
even  the  faintest  echo  of  their  footsteps  might  bring  a  pur 
suer  on  their  track.  Their  summons  for  admission  was, 
after  a  considerable  wait,  answered  by  the  porter  of  the 
gate,  who,  upon  seeing  two  monks,  relinquished  his  station 
by  the  wicket  and  descended  to  inquire  into  their  behest. 

Hellayne  shrank  up  to  Tristan,  as  the  latter  stated  their 
purpose  and  the  old  monk,  unable  to  understand  the  jargon 
of  his  belated  caller,  withdrew,  mumbling  some  equally  unin 
telligible  reply. 

Hellayne's  eyes  were  those  of  a  frightened  deer. 

"  What  will  he  do,  Tristan?  "  she  whispered,  "  Oh,  Tris 
tan,  do  not  leave  me !  I  feel  I  shall  never  see  you  again, 
Tristan  —  my  love  —  take  me  away  —  I  am  afraid  —  " 


340  UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

He  held  her  close  to  him. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  fear,  my  Hellayne!  To-morrow  night 
I  shall  return  and  place  you  safely  where  we  may  see  each 
other  till  I  have  absolved  my  duties  to  the  Senator.  Do  not 
fear,  sweetheart !  Of  all  the  abodes  in  Rome  the  sanctity  of 
the  convent  is  inviolate  I  But  I  hear  steps  approaching  — 
some  one  is  coming.  Courage,  dearest  —  remember  how 
much  is  at  stake!" 

Another  moment  and  they  stood  before  the  Abbess  of 
Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere. 

Summoning  all  his  presence  of  mind,  Tristan  told  his  tale 
and  made  his  request.  Danger  lurking  in  the  infatuation  of 
a  Roman  noble  was  threatening  his  sister.  She  had  fled 
from  his  innuendos  and  begged  the  convent's  asylum  for  a 
brief  space  of  time,  when  he,  Tristan,  would  claim  her.  He 
explained  Hellayne's  attire,  and  the  Abbess,  raising  the 
woman's  head,  looked  long  and  earnestly  into  her  face. 

What  she  saw  seemed  to  confirm  of  the  truth  of  Tristan's 
speech,  and  she  agreed  readily  to  his  request.  Tristan 
kissed  Hellayne  on  the  brow,  then,  after  a  brief  and  affection 
ate  farewell  and  the  assurance  that  he  would  return  on  the 
following  day,  he  left  her  in  charge  of  the  Blessed  Sisters. 
With  a  sob  she  followed  the  Abbess  and  the  gates  shut  behind 
them. 

For  a  moment  Tristan  felt  as  if  all  the  world  about  him  was 
sulking  into  a  dark  bottomless  pit. 

Then,  suppressing  an  outcry  of  anguish,  his  winged  feet 
bore  him  across  Rome  towards  the  Basilica  of  St.  John  in 
Lateran. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE  PHANTOM  OF  THE  LATERAN 

T  still  lacked  a  few  minutes  of 
midnight  when  Tristan  arrived 
at  the  Lateran.  The  guard  had 
been  set  in  all  the  chapels,  as 
on  the  night  when  he  had  kept 
the  watch  before. 

Without  confiding  his  purpose 
to  any  one,  he  traversed   the 
silent  corridors  until  he  came  to 
the   chapel   where   he   was   to 
watch  all  night. 

The  men-at-arms  were  posted  outside  the  door.  A  lamp 
was  burning  in  the  corridor,  and  strict  orders  had  been  given 
that  no  person  whatsoever  was  to  pass  into  the  chapel. 

After  assuring  himself  that  all  was  secure,  Tristan  seated 
himself  in  a  chair  which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  chapel. 

The  place  was  dim  and  ghostly.  A  red  lamp  burnt  before 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  and  from  the  roof  of  the  chapel  hung 
another  lamp  of  bronze.  The  light  was  turned  low,  but  it 
threw  a  slight  radiance  upon  portions  of  the  mosaic  of  the  floor. 
Tristan  unbuckled  his  sword  and  placed  it  ready  to  hand. 
The  whole  of  the  Basilica  was  hushed  in  sleep.  There  was  a 
heaviness  and  oppression  in  the  air,  and  no  sound  broke  the 
stillness  in  the  courts  of  the  palace. 

Memory  flared  up  and  down  like  the  light  of  a  lamp,  as 
Tristan  pondered  over  the  changes  and  vicissitudes  of  his 
life,  with  all  its  miseries  and  heart-aches,  as  he  thought  of 
the  future  and  of  Hellayne.  Danger  encompassed  them  on 


342   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

every  side.  But  there  had  been  even  greater  terrors  when 
he  had  plucked  her  from  the  very  grip  of  Death,  from  the 
midst  of  her  foes. 

And  then  he  began  to  pray,  pray  for  Hellayne's  happiness 
and  safety,  and  his  whispering  voice  sounded  as  if  a  dry  leaf 
was  being  blown  over  the  marble  floor,  and  when  it  ceased 
the  silence  fell  over  him  like  a  cloak,  enveloping  him  in  its 
heavy,  stifling  folds. 

He  had  been  on  guard  in  the  Lateran  before,  but  the 
silence  had  never  seemed  so  deep  as  it  was  now.  His  mind, 
heated  and  filled  with  the  events  of  the  past  days,  would  not 
be  tranquil.  And  yet  there  was  a  deadly  fascination  in  this 
profound  silence,  in  which  it  seemed  his  own  mind  and  the 
riot  of  his  thoughts  were  living  and  awake. 

What,  if  even  now  some  lurking  danger  were  approaching 
through  the  thousand  corridors  and  anterooms  of  the  palace ! 
For  on  this  night  the  enemies  of  Christ  were  abroad,  silently 
unfurling  the  sable  banners  of  Hell. 

The  thought  was  almost  unbearable.  It  was  not  fear 
which  Tristan  felt,  rather  a  restlessness  he  was  unable  to 
control.  Although  the  night  was  no  hotter  than  usual,  per 
spiration  began  to  break  out  upon  his  face,  and  he  felt  athirst. 
The  fumes  of  incense  that  permeated  the  chapel,  increased 
his  drowsiness. 

With  something  of  an  effort  Tristan  strode  to  the  door  and 
opened  it.  In  the  corridor  two  men-at-arms  were  on  guard, 
one  standing  against  the  wall,  the  other  walking  slowly  to 
and  fro.  The  men  reported  that  all  was  well,  and  that  no 
one  had  passed  that  way.  Tristan  closed  the  door  and 
returned  inside.  He  walked  up  the  chapel's  length  and 
then,  his  drawn  sword  beside  him  on  the  marble,  knelt  in 
prayer  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament  which  he  had  come  to 
guard. 

There,  for  a  little,  his  confused  and  restless  mind  found 
peace. 


PHANTOM  OF  THE  LATERAN    343 

But  not  for  long. 

A  drowsiness  more  heavy  and  insistent  than  any  he  had 
ever  known  began  to  assail  him.  It  billowed  into  his  brain, 
wave  after  wave.  It  assailed  him  with  an  irresistible,  physical 
assault.  He  fought  against  it  despairingly  and  hopelessly, 
knowing  that  he  would  be  vanquished.  Once,  twice,  sword 
in  hand,  as  though  the  long  blade  could  help  him  in  the  fight, 
he  staggered  up  and  down  the  chapel.  Then,  with  a  smoth 
ered  groan,  he  sank  into  the  chair,  the  sword  slipping  from 
his  grasp.  He  felt  as  if  deep  waters  were  closing  over  him. 
There  was  a  sound  like  dim  and  distant  drums  in  his  ears,  a 
sensation  of  sinking,  lower,  ever  lower,  —  then  utter  oblivion. 

And  now  silence  reigned,  silence  more  intense  than  his 
mind  had  ever  known. 

The  red  lamp  burned  before  the  Host.  The  lamp  in  the 
centre  of  the  chapel  threw  a  dim  radiance  upon  the  bowed 
form  of  Tristan,  whose  sword  crossed  the  mosaics  of  the 
floor. 

Silence  there  was  in  the  whole  circuit  of  the  Lateran. 

Even  the  Blessed  Father,  prisoner  in  his  own  chamber, 
was  asleep.  The  domestic  prelates,  the  whole  vast  eccle 
siastical  court  were  wrapt  in  deep  repose. 

In  the  chapel  of  St.  Luke  the  silence  was  broken  by  the 
deep  breathing  of  Tristan.  It  was  not  the  breathing  of  a  man 
in  healthy  sleep.  It  was  a  long-drawn  catching  at  the  breath, 
then  once  more  a  difficult  inhalation.  The  men-at-arms  out 
side  in  the  corridor  heard  nothing  of  it.  The  sound  was 
confined  to  the  interior  alone. 

The  ceiling  of  the  chapel  was  painted,  and  the  various  panels 
were  divided  by  gilded  oak  headings. 

Almost  in  the  centre,  directly  above  where  Tristan  reposed 
in  leaden  slumber,  was  a  panel  some  two  feet  square,  which 
represented  hi  faint  and  faded  colors  the  martyrdom  of  St. 
Sebastian. 

Suddenly,  without  a  sound,  the  panel  parted. 


344  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

If  the  sleeper  had  been  awake  he  would  have  seen  almost 
at  his  feet  a  swaying  ladder  of  silk  rope,  which  for  a  moment 
or  two  hissed  back  and  forth  over  the  tesselated  floor. 

Now  the  dark  square  in  the  painted  ceiling  became  faintly 
illumined.  In  its  dim  oblong  a  formless  shape  centred  itself. 
The  faint  hiss  from  the  end  of  the  silken  rope  ladder  recom 
menced  and  down  the  ladder  from  the  roof  of  the  chapel 
descended  a  formless  spectre,  with  incredible  swiftness,  with 
incredible  silence. 

The  spider  had  dropped  from  the  centre  of  its  web.  It  had 
chosen  the  time  well.  It  was  upon  its  business. 

The  trembling  of  the  rope  ladder  ceased.  Without  a  sound 
the  black  figure  emerged  into  the  pale  light  thrown  by  the 
central  lamp.  The  figure  was  horrible.  It  was  robed  in 
deepest  black,  and  as  it  made  a  quick  bird-like  movement  of 
the  head,  the  face,  plucked  as  from  some  deadly  nightmare, 
was  so  awful  that  it  seemed  well  that  Tristan  was  unconscious. 

The  High  Priest  of  Satan  stood  in  the  chapel  of  the  Lateran. 
His  quick,  dexterous  fingers  ran  over  Tristan's  sleeping  form. 
Then  he  nodded  approvingly. 

There  was  a  soft  pattering  of  steps  and  now  the  black  form 
passed  out  of  the  circle  of  light  and  emerged  into  the  red 
light  of  the  lamp,  which  burned  before  the  altar. 

Above,  upon  the  embroidered  frontal,  were  the  curtains  of 
white  silk  edged  with  gold  —  the  gates  of  the  tabernacle. 

A  long,  lean  arm,  hardly  more  than  a  bone,  drew  apart  the 
curtains.  Mingling  with  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  sleeping 
man  there  was  a  sharp  sound,  most  startling  in  the  intense 
silence. 

It  was  a  bestial  snarl  of  satisfaction.  It  was  followed  by 
abominable  chirpings  of  triumph,  cold,  inhuman,  but  real. 

Tristan  slept  on.  The  men-at-arms  kept  their  faithful 
watch.  In  the  whole  of  the  Lateran  Palace  no  one  knew 
that  the  High  Priest  of  Satan  was  prowling  through  the  pre 
cincts  and  had  seized  upon  his  awful  prey. 


PHANTOM  OF  THE  LATERAN    345 

He  thrust  the  Holy  Host  into  a  silver  box,  and  placed 
it  next  to  his  bosom.  Then  he  drew  a  wafer  of  the  exact 
size  and  shape  of  the  stolen  Host  from  the  pocket  of  his 
robe.  Gliding  over  to  Tristan  he  thrust  this  unconsecrated 
wafer  into  his  doublet. 

Then  the  black  bat-like  thing  mounted  to  the  ceiling.  The 
lemon-colored  light  reappeared  for  a  moment.  In  its  glare 
the  dark  phantom  looked  terrific,  like  a  fiend  from  Hell.  The 
rope  ladder  moved  silently  upwards,  and  the  painted  panel 
with  the  arrow-pierced  Sebastian  dropped  soundlessly  into 
its  place. 

The  red  lamp  burnt  in  front  of  the  tabernacle.  But  the 
chapel  was  empty  now. 

At  dawn  the  unexpected  happened. 

The  guards,  expecting  to  be  relieved,  found  themselves 
face  to  face  with  a  special  commission,  come  to  visit  the 
Lateran.  It  consisted  of  the  Cardinal-Archbishop  of  Ravenna, 
the  Cardinal  of  Orvieto,  the  Prefect  of  the  Camera  and  Basil 
the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

After  having  made  the  rounds  they  at  last  arrived  before 
the  chapel  of  St.  Luke.  They  found  the  two  men-at-arms 
stationed  at  the  door,  alert  at  their  post.  The  men  were 
exhausted;  their  faces  appeared  grey  and  drawn  in  the  morn 
ing  light,  but  they  reported  that  no  one  had  passed  into  the 
chapel,  nor  had  they  seen  anything  of  Tristan  since  midnight, 
when  he  had  questioned  them. 

The  doors  of  the  chapel  were  locked.  Tristan  held  the 
keys.  Repeated  knocks  elicited  no  response. 

The  Archbishop  of  Ravenna  looked  anxiously  at  the  Prefect 
of  the  Camera. 

"  I  do  not  like  this,  Messer  Salviati,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  fear  there  is  something  wrong  here." 

"  Beat  upon  the  door  more  loudly,"  the  Prefect  turned  to 
one  of  the  halberdiers,  and  the  man  struck  the  solid  oak 
with  the  staff  of  his  axe,  till  the  whole  corridor,  filled  with  the 


346  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

ghostly  advance  light  of  dawn,  rang  and  echoed  with  the 
noise. 

The  Prefect  of  the  Camera  turned  to  the  Archbishop. 

"It  would  seem  the  Capitano  has  fallen  asleep.  That  is 
not  a  thing  he  ought  to  have  done  —  but  as  the  chapel  seems 
inviolate  we  need  hardly  remain  longer." 

And  he  looked  inquiringly  at  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

The  latter  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"  I  fear  the  Capitano  can  hardly  be  asleep,  since  we  have 
called  him  so  loudly,"  he  said,  looking  from  the  one  to  the 
other.  "  I  would  suggest  that  the  door  of  the  chapel  be 
forced." 

They  were  some  tune  about  it.  The  door  was  of  massive 
oak,  the  lock  well  made  and  true.  A  man-at-arms  had  been 
despatched  to  another  part  of  the  Lateran  to  bring  a  lock 
smith  who,  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  toiled  at  his  task. 

It  was  accomplished  at  last  and  the  four  entered  the  chapel. 

It  stretched  before  them,  long,  narrow,  almost  fantastic  in 
the  grey  light  of  morning. 

The  painted  ceiling  above  held  no  color  now.  The  mosaics 
of  the  floor  were  dead  and  lifeless.  In  the  centre  of  the 
chapel,  with  face  unnaturally  pale,  sat  Tristan,  huddled  up  in 
the  velvet  chair.  By  his  side  lay  his  naked  sword. 

The  lamp  which  was  suspended  from  the  centre  of  the 
ceiling  had  almost  expired. 

Infrontof  the  altarthe  wick,  floating  on  the  oil,  hi  itsbowlof 
red  glass,  gave  almost  the  only  note  of  color  against  the  grey. 

As  they  entered  the  chapel,  the  four  genuflected  to  the 
altar.  And  while  the  Prefect  and  Basil  went  over  to  where 
Tristan  was  sleeping  in  his  chair,  and  stood  about  with 
alarmed  eyes,  the  Cardinal  of  Orvieto  and  the  Archbishop  of 
Ravenna  approached  the  tabernacle  with  the  proper  rever 
ences,  parted  the  curtains  and  staggered  back,  indescribable 
horror  in  their  faces. 

The  Holy  Host  had  disappeared. 


PHANTOM  OF  THE  LATERAN   347 

The  priests  stared  at  each  other  in  terror.  What  did  it 
mean?  Again  the  Body  of  Our  Lord  had  been  taken  from 
His  resting-place.  The  captain  of  the  guard  was  asleep  in 
his  chair.  Verily  the  demons  were  at  work  once  more  and 
Hell  was  loosed  again. 

The  Archbishop  of  Ravenna  began  to  weep.  He  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  As  he  knelt  upon  the  altar  steps, 
great  tears  trickled  through  his  trembling  fingers,  while  he 
sent  up  prayers  to  the  Almighty  that  this  sacrilege  might  be 
discovered  and  its  perpetrators  brought  to  justice.  On  either 
side  of  him  knelt  the  priests  who  had  come  into  the  chapel 
after  them.  Their  hearts  were  filled  with  fear  and  sorrow. 

The  Cardinal  of  Ravenna  rose  at  last. 

His  old,  lean  face  shone  with  holy  anger  and  sorrow. 

"  An  expiatory  service  will  be  held  in  this  chapel  before 
noon,"  he  addressed  those  present.  "  I  shall  myself  say 
Mass  here.  Meanwhile  the  whole  of  the  palace  must  be* 
aroused.  Somewhere  the  emissaries  of  Satan  have  in  their 
possession  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  See  that  the  secret  Judas 
does  not  escape  us!" 

Almost  upon  his  words  there  came  a  loud  wail  of  anguish 
from  the  centre  of  the  chapel  where  Tristan  was  still  huddled 
in  his  chair. 

Basil  had  opened  the  doublet  at  his  neck,  as  if  to  give  him 
air,  and  the  Prefect  of  the  Camera,  who  was  standing  by, 
clapped  his  hands  to  his  temples,  and  groaned  like  a  soul  in 
torment. 

The  two  ecclesiastics  hurried  down  from  the  altar  steps. 

Upon  the  lining  of  Tristan's  doublet  there  lay  the  large 
round  wafer,  which  every  one  present  believed  to  be  the  con 
secrated  Host. 

The  Cardinal-Archbishop  reverently  took  the  wafer  from 
Tristan  and  held  it  up  in  two  hands. 

The  men-at-arms  sank  to  their  knees  with  a  rattle  and 
ring  of  accoutrement. 


348  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Every  one  knelt. 

Then  in  improvised  procession,  His  Eminence  restored  the 
wafer  to  the  tabernacle. 

Tristan  was  dragged  out  of  the  chapel. 

In  the  corridor  horror-stricken  men-at-arms  buffeted  him 
into  some  sort  of  consciousness.  His  bewildered  ears  caught 
the  words:  "  To  San  Angelo,"  as  he  staggered  between  the 
men-at-arms  as  one  hi  the  thrall  of  an  evil  dream,  leaving 
behind  him  a  nameless  fear  and  horror  among  the  monks, 
priests  and  attendants  at  the  Lateran. 


END   OF   BOOK   THE   THIRD 


BOOK  THE   FOURTH 


CHAPTER  I 


THE    RETURN    OF    THE    MOOR 

N  a  domed  chamber  of  the 
Emperor's  Tomb  there  sat  two 
personages  engaged  in  whis 
pered  conversation,  Basil  and 
a  weird  hooded  phantom  that 
seemed  part  of  the  dread  shad 
ows  which  crowded  in  upon  the 
room,  quenching  the  dying  light 
of  day.  Deep  silence  reigned. 
Only  the  monotonous  tread  of 
the  sentries  broke  the  stillness  as  they  made  the  rounds 
above  them. 

It  was  Basil  who  spoke. 

"All  is  going  well!  We  shall  prevail!  We  shall  set  up 
the  throne  of  Ebony  in  the  stead  of  the  Cross.  I  bow  to  your 
wisdom,  my  master!  The  promised  reward  shall  not  fail 
you !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  thin,  black  arm  of  his  vis-a-vis  trembled 
for  a  moment  in  the  ample  folds  of  his  black  gown.  Then, 
with  a  quick,  bird-like  movement,  a  thin  hand,  twisted  like  a 
claw,  wrinkled  and  yellow,  was  stretched  out  towards  the 
Grand  Chamberlain. 

On  the  second  finger  of  this  claw  there  was  a  ring.  Basil 
bent  and  kissed  it. 

Basil  began  to  speak  in  his  ordinary,  conversational  tone, 
but  there  was  a  strange  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  has  been  accomplished,"  he  said.  "  They  tell  me  all 
Rome  is  astir!  " 


352   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

The  voice  that  replied  seemed  to  come  from  a  great  dis 
tance  ;  the  lips  of  the  waxen  face  hardly  moved.  They  parted, 
that  was  all. 

"It  has  been  done!  I  took  it  myself!  It  was  the  Host 
which  the  Cardinal  of  Ravenna  had  consecrated  on  that 
morning." 

"  And  you  were  not  seen?  " 

"  I  was  not,"  came  the  whispered  reply.  "  As  a  measure 
of  precaution  I  wore  the  mask  which  I  use  to  go  about  the 
churches  at  night.  I  met  no  one." 

"  Is  it  here?  "  Basil  queried  eagerly. 

"  It  is  not  here,"  replied  the  voice.  "  It  must  be  kept 
until  the  night  of  the  great  consecration,  when  Lucifer  himself 
shall  sit  upon  the  ebony  throne  and  demand  his  bride  —  his 
stainless  dove.  Where  is  she  now?  " 

The  light  had  faded  out  of  Basil's  eyes,  and  his  face  was 
ashen. 

"  One  has  been  found,  worthy  of  even  as  fastidious  a 
master  as  he,  whom  we  both  serve.  Well-nigh  had  she 
escaped  us,  had  not  one  who  never  fails  me  tracked  her  on 
that  fatal  night,  when  her  body  lay  in  her  coffin  ready  to  be 
consecrated  to  the  Nameless  one." 

From  the  eyeless  sockets  of  the  shadow-mask  a  phosphor 
escent  gleam  shot  towards  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

"  What  of  the  man?  " 

"  The  wafer  was  discovered  on  a  certain  captain  of  the 
guard  who  hath  crossed  my  path  to  his  undoing  once  too 
often.  The  Church  herself  shall  pronounce  sentence  upon  him 

—  through  me !  " 

"  And  —  that  other?  " 
There  was  a  pause. 

"  Her  husband !  —  He  deems  her  dead,  nor  grieves  he 
overmuch,  believing,  as  he  does,  that  her  love  was  another's 

—  even  his  whom  I  have  marked  for  certain  doom.    I  have 
it  in  my  mind  to  try  what  a  jest  will  do  for  him." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  MOOR  353 

The  lurid  tone  of  the  speaker  seemed  to  impress  even  his 
shadowy  companion. 

"  A  jest?  " 

"  He  shall  attend  the  great  ceremony,"  Basil  explained. 
"  And  he  shall  behold  the  stainless  dove.  When  is  it  to  be?  " 
he  added  after  a  pause. 

"  When  is  it  to  be?  " 

"  Six  nights  hence  —  on  the  night  of  the  full  moon." 

"  And  then  you  shall  give  to  me  that  which  I  crave,  and 
the  forfeit  shall  be  paid." 

"  The  forfeit  shall  be  paid,"  the  voice  re-echoed  from  the 
shadows,  and  to  Basil  it  seemed  as  if  the  damp,  cold  breath 
from  an  open  grave  had  been  wafted  to  his  cheeks. 

Like  a  phantom  that  sinks  back  into  the  night  of  the  grave, 
whence  it  had  emerged,  Bessarion  vanished  from  the  cham 
ber.  In  his  place  stood  Hormazd,  who  had  noiselessly 
entered  through  a  panel  hi  the  wall. 

Basil  greeted  him  with  a  silent  nod. 

"  What  of  the  messenger?  "  he  turned  to  the  Oriental. 

"  He  returns  within  the  hour,"  replied  the  voice. 

"  What  are  his  tidings?  "  Basil  queried  eagerly.  "  Is 
Alberic  in  the  land  of  shadows,  where  she  dwells  who  gave 
him  birth?  " 

"  Sent  by  the  same  relentless  hand  across  the  Styx,"  the 
cowled  figure  spoke,  yet  Basil  knew  not  whether  it  was  a 
question  or  a  statement. 

He  gave  a  start. 

"  Tell  me,  how  are  secrets  known  to  you  at  which  Hell 
itself  would  pale?  "  he  turned  with  unsteady  tone  to  his 
companion. 

"  Those  of  the  shadows  commune  with  the  shadows," 
came  the  enigmatical  reply.  "  Is  everything  prepared?  " 

"  When  the  brazen  tongue  from  the  Capitol  tolls  the  hour, 
the  blow  shall  fall,"  Basil  replied.  "  Hassan  Abdullah  and 
his  Saracens  are  anchored  off  the  port  of  Ostia.  The  Epirotes 


354  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

and  Albanians  in  the  Senator's  service  are  bribed  to  our  cause. 
Rome  is  in  the  throes  of  mortal  terror.  Even  the  Monk  of 
Cluny  is  under  the  spell,  and  has  ceased  to  arraign  the  Scarlet 
Woman  of  Babylon.  The  dread  of  the  impending  judgment 
day  will  succor  our  cause.  And  —  once  installed  within 
these  walls  as  master  of  Rome  —  with  Theodora  by  my 
side  —  you  shall  have  full  sway,  to  do  whatever  your  dark 
fancies  may  prompt.  You  shall  have  a  chamber  and  a  labor 
atory  and  be  at  liberty  to  roam  at  will  through  your  devil's 
kitchen." 

The  cowled  figure  gave  a  silent  nod,  but,  before  he  could 
speak,the  door  leading  into  the  chamber  opened  as  from  the 
effect  of  a  violent  gust  of  wind,  and  a  shapeless  form,  that 
seemed  half  human,  half  ape,  flew  at  Basil's  feet,  who  recoiled 
as  if  a  ghost  had  arisen  before  him  from  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  Basil  stared  from  Daoud  the  Moor  to  his 
shadowy  visitor,  then  he  bade  the  runner  arise  and  com 
manded  him  in  some  Eastern  tongue  to  unburden  himself. 

With  many  protestations  of  his  devotion  the  monster  pro 
duced  a  bundle  which  Basil  had  not  noted,  owing  to  the 
swiftness  with  which  the  African  had  entered  the  chamber. 
Panting,  with  deft,  though  trembling  fingers,  Daoud  untied 
the  cords  and  a  bloody  head,  severed  from  its  trunk,  rolled 
upon  the  floor  of  the  chamber,  and  lay  still  at  Basil's  feet.  It 
had  lost  all  human  semblance  and  exhaled  the  putrid  odor  of 
the  grave. 

Basil  started  to  his  feet,  staring  from  the  Moor  to  Hormazd. 

"  Dead  —  "  his  pale  lips  stammered.  Then,  turning  to 
his  dark  companion,  he  added  by  way  of  encouragement  to 
himself: 

"  You  gave  me  truth!  " 

Daoud  was  cowering  on  the  floor,  his  eyes  staring  into  the 
shadows,  where  hovered  the  Persian's  almost  invisible 
form. 

A  nod  from  Basil  caused  him  to  rise. 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  MOOR  355 

"  Away  with  it!  "  shrieked  the  Grand  Chamberlain  over 
come  with  terror.  "  See  that  no  one  sets  eyes  upon  it!  " 

The  Moor  wrapped  the  severed  head  into  the  blood-stained 
cloth  and  darted  from  the  chamber. 

Then  Basil  turned  to  his  visitor. 

"In  six  days  Rome  shall  hail  a  new  master !  Let  then 
the  sable  banners  of  Hell  be  unfurled  and  the  Nameless 
Presence  rejoice  upon  his  ebony  throne!  And  now  do  you 
come  with  me  into  the  realms  of  doom  that  gape  below,  that 
your  eyes  may  be  gladdened  by  that  which  is  in  store  for  you !  " 

Taking  up  a  torch,  Basil  lighted  it  with  the  aid  of  two  flints 
and  the  twain  trooped  out  of  the  chamber  into  the  shadowy 
corridor  leading  into  the  crypts  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb. 


CHAPTER   II 


'THE  ESCAPE  FROM  SAN  ANGELO 

ID  DEN  away  in  some  secret 
vault  of  the  great  honey-col 
ored  Mausoleum  Tristan  found 
himself  when  the  men-at-arms 
had  departed,  and  he  had  re 
gained  his  full  senses.  Color 
had  faded  out  of  everything. 
The  rock  walls  were  lifeless  and 
grey.  The  immense  silence  of 
the  tomb  surrounded  him.  The 
rayless  gloom  was  without  relief,  save  what  sparse  light 
filtered  through  a  narrow  grated  window  so  high  hi  the  wall 
that  nothing  could  be  seen  from  below,  save  the  sky. 

The  torture  of  it  all  he  could  have  endured  very  well.  There 
was  something  greater.  It  was  the  thought  of  Hellayne. 
This  dreadful  uncertainty  swung  like  a  bell  in  his  brain,  cut 
through  the  fibre  of  his  being.  And  when  these  thoughts 
came  over  him  in  his  lone  confinement  he  beat  his  hands 
upon  the  stone  and  wept. 

They  had  placed  him  in  a  cell,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
hollowed  out  of  the  Travertine  rock.  It  was  small,  built  in 
the  thickness  of  the  mighty  Roman  walls.  Tristan  set  his 
teeth  hard,  prepared  to  endure.  He  knew  well  enough  what 
it  meant.  He  would  be  confined  in  this  living  tomb  till  his 
enemies  thought  his  spirit  was  broken,  and  then  he  would  be 
summoned  before  a  tribunal  of  the  Church. 
Once  a  day,  and  once  only,  the  door  of  his  cell  opened. 


ESCAPE  FROM  SAN  ANGELO    357 

By  the  smoky  light  of  a  torch,  his  gaoler  pushed  a  pitcher  of 
water  and  a  machet  of  bread  into  his  prison.  Then  the  red 
light  died  and  darkness  and  silence  supervened.  Yet  it  was 
not  the  ordinary  darkness  which  men  know.  Through  the 
haunted  chambers  of  Tristan's  mind  fantastic  forms  began 
to  chase  each  other,  evil  things  to  uncoil  themselves  and  raise 
their  heads.  More  and  more  drearily  the  burden  of  the  days 
began  to  press  upon  him.  What  availed  heroic  endurance? 

But  it  was  not  only  darkness,  nor  was  it  only  despair.  Nor 
was  it  only  silence.  It  was  a  strange  impalpable  something 
which  haunted  his  restless,  enforced  vigil;  a  dim  inchoate 
nothingness,  that  drove  him  to  the  verge  of  madness.  Though 
day  draped  the  sky  with  blue  and  golden  banners,  to  tell  the 
sons  of  men  that  Night  was  past  and  they  need  not  longer 
fear,  for  Tristan  darkness  was  not  a  transient  thing,  but  an 
awful  negation  of  hope. 

All  of  this  Tristan  could  have  endured,  had  not  the  thought 
of  Hellayne  unnerved  him  utterly. 

She  was  safe  —  so  he  hoped  —  in  the  Convent  of  Santa 
Maria  inTrastevere.  But,  as  hour  succeeded  hour,  his  assur 
ance  began  to  pale.  Everything  had  been  arranged  with  the 
Abbess.  But  —  had  she  indeed  eluded  her  pursuers?  The 
empty  coffin  had  no  doubt  long  been  discovered.  Did  they 
believe  she  was-  dead,  or  did  the  hand  who  had  dealt  the 
blow  in  the  dark,  the  vigilant  eye  that  had  pursued  her  every 
step,  plot  further  mischief? 

He  thought  of  Odo  of  Cluny.  The  monk  was  influential, 
but  there  v  as,  at  this  hour,  in  Rome,  one  even  more  powerful, 
and  he  doubted  not  but  that  by  his  agency  the  wafer  had  been 
placed  into  his  doublet,  though  the  events  of  that  fateful  night 
from  the  time  he  had  entered  the  Lateran,  were  like  a  black 
blot  upon  his  memory. 

Had  Odo  even  sought  admission  to  his  cell?  Did  he,  too, 
believe  him  guilty?  Had  his  ears,  too,  been  poisoned  by  the 
monstrous  lie?  To  him  he  might  indeed  have  turned ;  of  him 


358  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

he  might  have  received  assurance  of  Hellayne's  fate ;  and  in 
return  he  might  have  reassured  her  who  was  pining  at  the 
Convent  of  Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere. 

But,  was  she  ignorant  indeed  of  what  was  happening  in  the 
seven-hilled  city  of  Rome?  Would  not  the  rumor  of  the 
terrible  outrage  committed  at  the  Lateran  knock  even  at  the 
silent  walls  of  the  convent?  A  captain  of  the  Senator's"guard 
caught  red-handed  in  the  perpetration  of  a  crime  too  heinous 
for  the  human  mind  to  conceive ! 

He  reviewed  his  own  life,  the  close  of  which  seemed  very 
near  at  hand.  Free  from  cunning  and  that  secret  conceit 
which  is  peculiarly  alarming  to  natures  that  know  themselves 
to  be,  hi  all  practical  matters,  confounded  and  confused,  he 
had,  in  a  short  lime,  found  himself  placed  upon  the  world's 
greatest  stage,  a  world  little  fit  for  dreamers  and  for  dreams. 
He  had  been  plunged  into  the  inner  circles  of  the  mighty 
struggle,  impending  between  Powers  of  Light  and  the  Powers 
of  Darkness,  upon  a  sea  he  knew  not  how  to  navigate,  and 
upon  whose  cliffs  his  ship  had  stranded. 

One  evening,  when  the  cold  greyness  of  an  early  twilight 
had  enveloped  the  city,  and  from  the  darkening  sky  every 
now  and  then  was  heard  a  sound  of  approaching  thunder, 
Tristan,  counting  the  weary  hours  of  his  unbroken  solitude, 
which  he  could  but  measure  by  the  appearance  and  departure 
of  his  gaoler,  had  been  more  restless  than  usual.  He  had 
hoped  to  be  summoned  for  early  trial  before  those  high  in 
the  Church,  when,  in  Odo  of  Cluny,  he  would  find  an  advocate, 
who  alone  might  save  him  from  his  doom.  But  nothing  had 
happened.  Nothing  had  broken  the  dreary,  maddening 
monotony,  save  now  and  then  the  shriek  and  curses  of  a 
maddened  fellow-prisoner,  or  the  moans  of  a  wretch  who  was 
dying  of  thirst  or  hunger. 

Whoever  the  powers  that  dominated  his  life,  they  evidently 
had  not  decreed  his  immediate  death,  as  if  they  were  rejoicing 
in  the  torture  of  false  hopes  which  each  recurrent  day  waked 


ESCAPE  FROM  SAN  ANGELO    359 

in  his  breast,  and  which  each  departing  day  extinguished. 
The  food  never  varied,  and  the  water  intended  for  the  cleans 
ing  of  his  body  was  so  sparse  that  he  had  to  husband  it  as  a 
precious  possession  till  the  goaler  refilled  the  bronze  ewer 
on  the  succeeding  day. 

When  waking  from  feverish,  troubled  slumbers,  broken  by 
the  squeaking  of  the  rats  that  scurried  over  the  filthy  floor 
of  his  dungeon,  and  other  presences  that  caused  him  to  pray 
for  a  speedy  death  from  this  slow  torture,  he  found  himself 
nevertheless  listening  for  the  approach  of  the  gaoler  who, 
after  dispensing  his  bounty,  departed  as  he  had  come,  silent 
as  the  tomb,  without  making  reply  to  Tristan's  queries. 

Escape,  to  all  appearances,  seemed  quite  beyond  the  scope 
of  possibility.  Yet,  with  failing  hopes,  the  spirit  of  Tristan 
seemed  to  rise.  Had  not  his  good  fortune  been  with  him 
ever  since  he  arrived  at  Rome?  Had  he  not,  by  some 
miraculous  decree  of  destiny,  again  met  the  woman  he 
loved  better  than  all  the  world?  And  then,  they  had  left 
him  his  dagger.  After  all,  not  such  wretched  company 
in  his  present  plight. 

It  was  on  the  eve  of  the  third  day  when  the  voices  of  men 
coming  down  the  night-wrapt  passage  struck  his  wakeful  ear. 

In  one  of  the  speakers  he  recognized  Basil. 

"  And  you  are  quite  sure  no  one  saw  you  enter?  "  he  said 
to  his  companion. 

"  No  one !  "  came  the  snarling  reply.     "  Nevertheless  - 
they  are  on  my  track.     I  breathe  the  air  of  the  gibbet  which 
burns  my  throat." 

"  And  you  are  positive  no  one  recognized  you?  "  spoke  the 
.silken  voice. 

"  No  one." 

"  Take  courage, Hormazd.  Then  there  is  little  danger, yet 
you  should  take  care  that  no  one  may  see  you.  We  are 
surrounded  by  spies." 

"  Do  you  not  trust  Maraglia?  " 


360  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  I  trust  none !  You  will  therefore  remain  a  short  time 
concealed  in  this  subterranean  passage." 

"  Subterranean?  " 

There  was  a  note  of  terror  in  the  Oriental's  voice. 

"  That  is  to  say  —  the  vaults!  Here  you  will  find  honor 
able  and  pleasant  company,  who  will  not  betray  you.  You 
will  find  straw  hi  abundance  and  each  day  Maraglia  will 
bring  you  something  to  eat.  Go  slowly.  How  do  you  like 
the  abode?  " 

"  Not  even  the  devil  can  find  me  here." 

"  No  one  will  find  you  here!  " 

"  No  one  knows  where  I  am,"  Honnazd  interposed  du 
biously. 

"  Nor  ever  shall." 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence.     So  I  am  safe." 

"  You  are  safe  enough.  Lower  your  head  and  take  care 
not  to  stumble  over  the  threshold.  Here  —  this  side  — 
enter." 

"  Enter,"  re-echoed  the  other.    Then  there  was  a  pause. 

"  It  is  very  evident,  you  are  afraid  —  " 

"  Afraid?  No  —  but  I  am  thinking  we  always  know  Vhen 
we  enter  such  places  —  never  when  we  shall  leave  them." 

"  How?     Did  I  not  say  to-morrow  night?  " 

"  But  if  you  should  not  come  for  me?  " 

"  What  profit  would  your  death  be  to  me?  Where  shall  I 
find  another  wizard  to  bring  to  foretell  the  death  of  another 
Alberic?  " 

Tristan  gave  an  audible  gasp  at  these  words.  He  felt  his 
limbs  grow  numb.  Had  his  ears  heard  aright?  Surely  they 
had  not.  Some  demon  had  mocked  him,  to  drive  him  mad. 
Ere  he  could  regain  his  mental  balance,  the  voice  of  the 
Grand  Chamberlain's  companion  again  struck  his  ear. 

"  But  if  you  should  not  come,  my  lord?  " 

"  You  could  scream!  " 

"  What  would  that  avail?  " 


ESCAPE  FROM  SAN  ANGELO    361 

"  Mind  you  —  I  might  have  to  stay  here  myself  for  shel 
tering  such  a  patriarch  as  you." 

"  Nevertheless  —  to  guard  against  all  risks  —  leave  the 
door  open  —  " 

He  entered,  but  the  door  turned  immediately  upon  its 
hinges. 

"  My  Lord  Basil — "  shrieked  Hormazd,  "the  door  is  shut — " 

"  I  stumbled  against  it." 

"  Bring  a  light  —  open  the  door  —  "  came  a  muffled  voice 
from  within. 

"  I  shall  soon  return." 

"  Do  not  forget  the  light." 

"  Light! — Ay!  You  shall  not  want  for  light,  —  if  what  I 
say  be  not  false:  Et  lux  perpetua  luceat  eis,"  chanted  the 
Grand  Chamberlain  in  Requiem  measure,  as  he  strode  away. 

Silence,  deep  and  sepulchral,  succeeded.  Tristan  cowered 
on  the  floor,  hisface  covered  with  his  hands.  If  what  he  had 
overheard  was  true,  he,  too, was  lost.  What  had  happened? 
Who  was  the  Grand  Chamberlain's  companion? 

Now  Hormazd  began  to  scream  and  .rave  in  the  darkness. 
Terrible  execrations  broke  from  the  Oriental's  lips,  as  he 
hurled  his  body  against  the  iron  bars  of  his  prison  cell. 
Demoniacal  yells  waked  the  silent  echoes.  The  other  pris 
oners,  alarmed  and  rendered  restless,  soon  joined  in,  and 
soon  the  dark  vaults  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb  resounded  with 
a  veritable  pandemonium,  a  chorus  of  the  damned  that 
caused  Tristan  to  put  his  fingers  to  his  ears  lest  he,  too,  go 
mad. 

At  nine  o'clock  that  night  the  last  visit  was  to  be  paid  the 
prisoners.  At  nine  o'clock  Maraglia,  the  Castellan,  came, 
attended  by  the  guard,  which  waited  outside.  The  Castellan 
was  in  a  state  of  nervous  excitement.  As  he  entered  Tris 
tan's  cell  he  looked  about,  as  if  he  dreaded  a  listener,  then 
he  approached  his  prisoner  and  whispered  something  into  his 
ear. 


362   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

For  a  moment  Tristan  knew  not  what  has  happening  to 
hun.  Was  he  alone  with  a  mad  man  and  was  Maraglia  too 
possessed?  — 

The  Castellan,  to  prove  his  assertion  that  he  was  a  bat, 
began  forthwith  to  squeak,  and  waved  his  arms,  as  if  they 
were  wings. 

Curious  stories  were  told  about  Maraglia.  No  one  knew, 
why  he  had  retained  his  post  so  long  amidst  ever  recurring 
changes,  and  it  was  whispered  that  he  was  subject  to  strange 
possessions  of  the  mind.  He  faced  his  prisoner  nervously, 
fingering  a  poniard  in  his  belt.  Tristan  watched  his  every 
gesture. 

A  little  foam  came  out  of  the  corners  of  Maraglia's  lips. 
He  wrung  his  hands  and  his  voice  rose  into  a  sort  of  shriek. 
He  jerked  his  head  half  round  towards  the  men-at  arms 
outside  in  the  gallery.  The  screams  of  Hormazd  continued. 

"  It  is  the  Ape  of  Antichrist,"  he  whispered  to  Tristan. 
"  I  have  a  mind  to  try  conclusions  with  hun.  Close  the 
door." 

Tristan's  wits,  preternaturally  sharpened  in  his  predica 
ment  put  words  in  his  mouth  which  he  seemed  unable 
to  account  for.  He  had  heard  rumors  of  the  Castellan. 
Perchance  he  might  turn  his  madness  to  account. 

"  I  can  tell  you  much,"  he  said.  "  But  not  here  !  But  one 
thing  I  perceive.  You  are  approaching  one  of  your  bad 
spells." 

Maraglia  shrank  back  against  the  door.  His  face  was  pale 
as  death. 

"  Then  you  know?  "  he  squeaked. 

Tristan  nodded.  The  torch  which  the  Castellan  had  placed 
in  an  iron  holder  that  projected  from  the  wall,  was  burning 
low  and  the  resinous  fumes  filled  the  cell. 

"  Something  I  know  —  but  not  all!  Yet,  I  believe  I  can 
cure  you  —  " 

"  I  am  about  to  turn  into  a  bat !    And  when  I  go  abroad  I 


ESCAPE  FROM  SAN  ANGELO    363 

scream  like  a  bat  —  in  a  thin,  high  pitched  tone.  And  I  flap 
my  arms  —  and  fly  away  —  thus  —  " 

Tristan  nodded  wisely. 

"  I  know  the  symptoms  — they  are  of  Satan.  Neverthe 
less,  I  can  cure  you." 

"  Without  conference  with  the  evil  powers?  " 

Tristan  pondered. 

"  You  shall  not  imperil  your  soul !  But  —  take  heed !  It 
is  well  that  you  have  spoken  to  me  of  these  matters.  For, 
from  feeling  that  you  are  a  bat,  a  bat  you  will  become." 

Maraglia  was  pale  as  a  ghost. 

"  Then  I  was  just  hi  the  nick  of  tune?  " 

"  You  are  already  half  immersed,"  Tristan  replied  in  a 
deep  and  menacing  tone.  "  Take  heed  lest  you  be  utterly 
drowned." 

The  Castellan  shivered  at  one  hi  an  ague. 

"  Every  Friday  at  midnight  the  Black  Mass  is  said  by  one 
Bessarion,  that  is  of  unthinkable  age  —  a  hideous  wizard  and 
High  Priest  of  Satan.  It  is  he  who  has  cast  the  spell  over 
me." 

Hope  mounted  high  hi  Tristan.  The  alert  confidence  of 
his  companion  animated  him  and  he  felt  almost  as  if  the  great 
ordeal  was  over.  A  distant  bell  was  tolling.  Its  tones  came 
in  muffled  cadence  into  the  night  wrapt  corridors  of  the 
Emperor's  Tomb. 

Nevertheless  he  shivered  at  the  Castellan's  confession. 
Maraglia,  then,  was  under  the  spell  of  this  Wizard  of  Hell. 

"  I  have  seen  him  stalking  through  these  galleries,"  he 
turned  to  his  gaoler.  "  But  I  possess  a  spell  which  renders 
him  harmless.  He  cannot  touch  me  —  nor  breathe  his  evil 
breath  into  my  soul.  I  can  compel  him  to  take  away  the 
spell  he  has  cast  over  you  —  that  is,  if  you  so  wish  it." 

The  Castellan  squeaked  and  waved  his  arms. 

"  You  would  do  this  for  me?  " 

"  If  you  will  not  betray  me.     For  only  a  more  powerful 


364   UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

spell  than  that  which  he  possesses  can  take  away  the  curse 
he  has  put  upon  you." 

"  Ah !  If  you  would  do  this !  It  is  coming  upon  me  now. 
I  am  going  mad.  I  am  a  bat!  " 

And  Maraglia  squeaked  like  a  whole  company  of  dusky 
mice,  and  flapped  his  arms  as  if  he  were  about  to  fly  away. 

"  This  very  night  will  I  do  it,"  Tristan  replied.  "  But  you 
must  help  me." 

"  What  can  I  do?  " 

Tristan  cast  all  upon  one  throw. 

"  Remove  your  guards  from  this  corridor  and  leave  me  a 
light  and  a  rope." 

"  It  is  but  reasonable,"  Maraglia  returned.  "  I  will  fetch 
them.  When  appears  the  wizard?  " 

"  At  midnight!     See  that  I  am  not  disturbed." 

Maraglia  nodded.  Fear  had  almost  deprived  him  of  his 
senses. 

"  Last  time  I  saw  him  he  came  from  yonder  corridor," 
Tristan  informed  the  Castellan. 

"  That  may  not  be !  "  the  latter  replied.  "  Unless  he  hath 
wings.  This  passage  leads  to  the  ramparts." 

"  It  is  possible  I  have  been  confused  by  the  darkness," 
Tristan  replied  pensively.  "  Nevertheless,  I  will  oblige  you, 
Messer  Maraglia." 

The  Castellan  retired  with  many  manifestations  of  his 
gratitude,  leaving  Tristan  in  possession  of  a  lantern,  a  candle 
and  a  coil  of  rope. 

It  was  midnight. 

The  sharp  click  of  a  flint  upon  steel  was  repeated  several 
times  before  a  spark  fell  upon  the  tinder  and  it  caught  with 
a  blue,  ghostly  flicker.  There  were  strange  reflections  in 
Tristan's  cell.  Curious  steely  lights  played  upon  him. 

Then  the  candle  ignited.  The  glow  widened  out.  Tristan 
peered  about  cautiously.  The  door  of  his  cell  had  been  left 
unfastened  by  Maraglia.  He  had  no  fear  of  his  prisoner 


ESCAPE  FROM  SAN  ANGELO    365 

escaping.  No  one  had  ever  escaped  from  these  vaults,  except 
to  certain  death. 

He  crept  out  hi  to  the  corridor.  It  was  dark  as  in  the 
realms  of  the  underworld.  The  silence  of  the  tomb  prevailed. 
After  a  time  the  passage  made  a  sharp  turn  at  right  angles. 
A  cooler  air  blew  upon  his  face,  wafted  through  an  unbarred 
embrasure,  beyond  which  showed  a  star-lit  night  without  a 
moon,  but  not  wholly  dark. 

Drawing  himself  up  into  the  embrasure  he  stood  at  last 
upon  a  broad  sill  of  stone.  A  cool  breeze  eddied  around 
him.  He  was  at  an  immense  height.  A  vast  portion  of 
Rome  lay  below.  The  Tiber  seemed  like  a  river  of  lead. 
Far  away  to  the  left  the  dark  cypresses  of  the  Pincian  Hill 
cut  into  the  night  sky  in  sombre  silhouette.  He  was  above 
the  tombs  of  Hadrian  and  Caracalla. 

Tristan  shivered  despite  himself  as  he  fastened  the  rope 
he  had  secured  from  the  unwary  Castellan  to  the  stone  ledge. 
It  was  not  fear;  but  that  actual,  physical  shrinking,  which 
induces  nausea,  had  him  in  its  grip. 

"  There  is  Rome,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  savage  chuckle. 

He  made  a  stirrup  loop  and  curved  it  round  a  boss  of  antique 
tile,  which  stretched  above  the  abyss  like  a  gargoyle.  Then, 
with  infinite  precaution,  he  lowered  the  coil  of  rope. 

Dawn  was  already  heralded  hi  the  East.  A  faint  grey 
light  appeared  in  the  direction  of  the  Alban  Hills.  From 
over  the  Esquiline  came  the  shrill  trumpeting  of  a  cock. 

There  was  a  horrible  moment  as  Tristan's  hands  left  the 
roof  edge  and  he  fell  a  foot  to  grasp  the  rope.  He  curled  his 
legs  about  it,  got  it  between  his  crossed  feet  and  began  to 
let  himself  down.  The  sinews  of  his  arms  seemed  to  creak. 
Once  he  passed  an  open  window  and  distinctly  heard  the 
snores  of  the  men-at-arms  who  were  sleeping  within.  The 
descent  seemed  interminable.  As  seen  from  above,  had 
there  been  any  one  to  watch  him,  his  form  grew  less  and  less. 
From  a  man  it  seemed  to  turn  into  an  ape ;  from  an  ape  as  a 


366  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

night  bird  groping  down  the  Mausoleum's  side;  from  a  bird 
it  dwindled  to  a  spider,  spinning  downward  on  a  taut  thread. 
Up  there,  on  the  height,  the  rope  groaned  and  creaked  upon 
the  curved  tile  from  which  it  hung.  But  tile  and  fibre  held. 
Once  his  feet  rested  upon  a  leaden  water  pipe  and  he  clung 
and  swayed,  glad  of  a  momentary  relsase  from  the  frightful 
strain  upon  his  arms.  That  was  almost  the  last  conscious 
sensation.  Clinging  to  the  rope  he  came  down  quick  and 
more  quickly.  His  arms  rose  and  fell  with  the  precision  of  a 
machine.  At  last  he  felt  his  feet  upon  solid  ground,  where 
he  reeled  and  staggered  like  a  drunken  man. 
He  had  traversed  a  hundred  thirty-five  feet  of  air. 


CHAPTER   III 


THE    LURE 


OR  three  whole  days  Hellayne 
consumed  herself  waiting  for 
Tristan,  and  she  began  to  feel 
listless  and  dispirited.  She  had 
long  acknowledged  to  herself 
the  necessity  of  his  presence, 
and  how  much  his  love  had 
influenced  her  thoughts  and 
actions  ever  since  she  had 
known  him  —  a  period  that  now 
seemed  of  infinite  length.  She  found  herself  perpetually 
recalling  the  origin  and  growth  of  this  love.  She  dwelt  with 
a  strange  pleasure  on  her  terrible  plight,  when,  believing  she 
was  dead,  he  had  remained  with  her  body.  As  evening 
approached  she  strolled  down  to  the  Tiber,  with  a  strange 
persistency  and  the  vague  expectation  of  Tristan's  return. 
She  now  trusted  him  utterly,  since  that  last  and  most  potent 
proof  of  his  love  for  her. 

On  the  first  day  this  dreamy,  imaginative  existence  was 
delightful.  The  region  of  the  Trastevere  at  the  period  of  our 
story  was  but  sparsely  populated,  and  the  great  convent, 
with  its  church  of  Santa  Maria,  dominated  the  lowly  fisher 
huts,  scattered  over  its  precincts.  Hellayne,  during  these 
quiet  evening  hours,  when  only  the  sounds  of  far-off  chimes 
from  churches  and  convents  smote  the  silence  with  their  silver 
tongues,  and  during  which  hours  the  Abbess  of  Santa  Maria 
permitted  her  to  leave  the  silent  walls  of  her  asylum  for  a 


368  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

short  walk  to  the  Tiber's  edge,  rarely  ever  saw  a  human 
being.  Only  at  dusk,  when  the  fishermen  and  boatmen 
returned  from  their  daily  routine,  she  saw  them  pass  in  the 
distance,  like  phantoms  that  come  and  go  and  vanish  in  the 
evening  glow. 

On  the  second  day  there  came  a  feeling  of  want ;  the  con 
sciousness  that  there  was  a  void  which  it  would  be  a  great 
happiness  to  fill.  This  grew  to  a  longing  for  those  hours 
which  had  glided  by  so  quickly  and  sweetly.  At  intervals 
there  came  the  startling  thought :  if  she  should  never  see  him 
again !  Then  her  heart  stopped  beating,  and  her  cheek  paled 
with  the  thought  of  the  bare  possibility. 

Thus  the  third  day  sped,  and  when  Hellayne  still  remained 
without  tidings  from  Tristan  her  anxiety  slowly  changed  to  a 
great  fear.  She  could  hardly  contain  herself  during  the  long 
hours  of  the  day,  and  though  she  spent  hours  and  hours  in 
prayer  for  his  return,  her  heart  seemed  to  sink  under  the 
weight  of  her  fear  and  sorrow.  She  was  alone  —  alone  in 
Rome  —  exposed  to  dangers  which  her  great  beauty  rendered 
even  more  grave  than  those  that  beset  an  ordinary  person. 
She  feared  lest  Basil  was  scouring  the  city  for  the  woman 
who  had  so  mysteriously  baffled  his  desires,  and  she  dreaded 
the  hatred  of  Theodora,  whose  infatuation  for  her  lover  had 
rather  increased  than  diminished  in  the  face  of  Tristan's 
resistance.  How  long  would  he  be  able  to  withstand,  if 
Theodora  had  decreed  his  undoing? 

There  were  moments  when  a  mad  jealousy  and  despair 
surged  up  in  Hellayne's  heart,  yet  she  hesitated  to  confide 
her  fears  and  anxiety  to  the  Abbess,  voicing  only  her  dis 
quietude  at  Tristan's  prolonged  absence.  Then  only  the 
latter  inf ormed  Hellayne  of  a  strange  rumor  which  had  found 
its  way  into  the  Trastevere.  Three  nights  ago  a  terrible 
sacrilege  had  been  committed  at  the  Lateran,  during  the 
small  hours  of  the  night,  and  on  the  following  morning,  during 
an  inspection  by  some  high  prelates  of  the  Church,  the  crim- 


THE  LURE  369 

inal  had  been  discovered  in  the  person  of  a  captain  of  the 
Senator's  guard,  who  had  but  recently  arrived  in  Rome,  and 
had  been  placed  in  high  command  by  the  Senator  himself, 
whom  he  had  so  cruelly  betrayed. 

Three  nights  ago!  It  was  on  the  night  of  the  terrible 
crime  from  whose  consequences  she  had  been  saved  just  in 
the  nick  of  time.  With  painful  minuteness  Hellayne  recalled, 
or  tried  to  recall,  every  incident,  every  detail,  every  utterance 
of  her  lover.  But  there  was  nothing  at  which  she  could 
clutch  save  —  but  it  was  sheer  madness.  Surely  it  was  some 
horrid  nightmare.  Again  she  sought  the  Abbess,  later  in  the 
day,  questioning  her  regarding  the  name  of  him  who  had  been 
taken  in  the  commission  of  so  heinous  an  offence.  It  was 
some  time  ere  the  Abbess  could  recall  a  name  strange  in  her 
own  land,  and  Hellayne,  with  the  persistency  of  desperation, 
withheld  any  aid,  so  as  not  to  offer  a  clue  to  the  one  she 
dreaded  to  hear.  But  the  strain  proved  too  great.  Almost 
with  a  shriek  she  demanded  to  know  if,  perchance,  the  name 
was  Tristan.  The  Abbess  regarded  her  questioner  strangely. 
u  Tristan  is  the  name.  Do  you  know  this  man,  my  child?  " 

Hellayne  was  on  the  point  of  fainting.  Everything  grew 
black  before  her  eyes,  and  she  would  have  fallen, had  not  the 
Abbess  supported  her. 

"  A  countryman  of  mine,"  she  said,  dreading  lest  by  reveal 
ing  their  connection  she  might  herself  be  held  in  custody. 
"  He  came  to  Rome  on  a  pilgrimage.  Surely  there  is  some 
horrible  mistake  !  He  could  not !  He  could  not !  " 

The  Abbess  placed  an  arm  round  the  trembling  girl. 

"  If  he  can  prove  that  he  is  innocent,  the  Cardinal-Arch 
bishop  will  not  suffer  a  hair  of  his  head  to  be  touched,"  she 
tried  to  console  Hellayne  whose  head  rested  on  her  shoulder. 
She  seemed  utterly  crushed.  Surely  —  it  was  too  monstrous 
—  too  unbelievable.  Yet  as  the  moments  sped  on,  an  icy, 
sickening  fear  gripped  her  heart.  She  recalled  an  incident 
of  that  last  evening  with  Tristan  which,  but  for  what  had 


370  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

happened  or  was  rumored  to  have  happened,  she  would  have 
utterly  ignored.  She  had  noted  her  lover's  restlessness,  and 
his  apparent  haste  in  leaving  her  at  the  convent  gates.  She 
recalled  now  that  he  repeatedly  glanced  at  the  moon  and  did, 
at  one  tune,  comment  upon  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  He 
had  not  seemed  anxious  to  prolong  their  tete-a-tete,  and  he 
had  not  been  heard  from  in  three  days.  Surely,  no  matter 
where  he  was,  he  could  have  sent  a  message,  verbal  or  other 
wise.  And  the  crime  had  happened  during  the  small  hours 
of  the  night — after  he  had  left  her!  It  was  too  horrible  to 
ponder  upon ! 

That  there  was  some  dreadful  mystery  which  surrounded 
this  deed  of  darkness  and  Tristan's  share  therein,  Hellayne 
did  not  question.  But  how  was  she,  a  woman,  a  stranger, 
alone  in  Rome,  to  aid  in  clearing  it  up  and  reveal  her  lover's 
innocence?  There  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind,  but  that  he  was 
the  victim  of  some  devilish  conspiracy  —  perchance  a  thread 
of  that  same  web  which  had  entangled  her  to  her  undoing. 
But  how  to  convince  the  Cardinal-Archbishop  of  Tristan's 
innocence,  when  the  facts  surrounding  the  terrible  discovery 
were  unknown  to  her? 

"  This  man  is,  no  doubt,  very  dear  to  you,"  said  the  Abbess 
at  last. 

Hellayne  shrank  before  the  questioner  and  averted  her 
face.  But  the  Abbess  was  resolved  to  know  more,  once  her 
suspicions  were  aroused. 

"  Could  it  perchance  be  he  who  brought  you  here  three 
nights  ago  —  your  brother?  "  she  queried  with  a  kind,  though 
penetrating  glance  at  the  woman  who  was  trembling  like  an 
aspen,  her  face  colorless,  her  eyes  dimmed  with  tears. 

A  silent  nod  convinced  the  Abbess  of  the  truth  of  her  sur 
mise.  She  stroked  Hellayne's  silken  hair. 

"  It  is  a  dreadful  crime  of  which  he  stands  accused,  one  for 
which  there  is  no  remission  —  no  pardon  here  or  hereafter," 
she  said  sorrowfully. 


THE  LURE  371 

"  He  is  innocent,"  sobbed  Hellayne.  "  He  is  as  pure  as 
the  light,  as  the  flowers.  There  is  some  dreadful  mistake. 
He  must  be  saved  before  it  is  too  late  !  Oh  —  dear  mother 
—  could  you  not  intercede  for  him  with  His  Eminence?  " 

The  Abbess  regarded  her  as  if  she  thought  her  protege  had 
suddenly  lost  her  reason.  To  intercede  with  the  Cardinal- 
Archbishop  for  one  who  stood  committed  of  so  heinous  an 
offence,  taken  in  the  very  act,  —  one  who,  perchance,  was 
implicated  in  all  those  other  terrible  outrages  committed  in 
the  various  sanctuaries  of  Rome !  Nevertheless  she  made 
allowance  for  Hellayne's  hysterical  plea. 

"  Has  he  never  mentioned  these  matters  to  you?  "  She 
queried  kindly,  hoping  to  draw  the  girl  out. 

"  What  matters?  "  Hellayne  queried,  with  wide  eyes,  and 
the  question  convinced  the  Abbess  that  the  woman  knew 
nothing. 

"  These  dark  practices,"  replied  the  Abbess.  "  For  this 
is  not  the  first  offence.  Even  within  this  very  moon  cycle 
the  Holy  Host  has  been  taken  from  the  Church  of  Our  Blessed 
Lady  yonder.  And  all  efforts  to  discover  the  guilty  one  have 
failed." 

"  I  had  not  heard  of  it,"  said  Hellayne.  "  I  have  not  been 
long  in  Rome.  Nor  has  he.  About  a  month,  I  should  say." 

"  A  month?  " 

"  And  he  knew  nothing  of  this.  Nor  knew  he  even  one 
person  in  this  whole  city." 

"  Wherefore  then  came  he?  " 

Hellayne  explained  and  the  Abbess  listened.  Hellayne's 
account,  which  was  impersonal,  impressed  her  protectress  in 
so  far  as  she  knew  she  spoke  truth.  For,  if  here  was  an 
impostor,it  was  the  cleverest  she  had  ever  faced  and,  while  a 
stranger  to  the  world  and  to  worldly  affairs,  the  stamp  of 
truth  was  too  indelibly  written  upon  Hellayne's  brow  to  even 
permit  of  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  Perhaps  it  was  for  this 
reason  the  Abbess  refrained  from  questioning  her  farther, 


372   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

for  she  had  been  somehow  curious  of  the  relation  between 
the  woman  and  the  man  who  had  brought  her  here. 

Here  was  matter  for  thought  indeed.  For,  if  the  man  was 
guilty  and,  notwithstanding  Hellayne's  protestations,  the 
Abbess  was  hi  her  own  mind  convinced  that  the  Cardinal- 
Archbishop  of  Ravenna  could  not  be  deceived  in  matters  of 
this  kind,  what  was  to  become  of  the  woman  he  had  placed 
in  her  charge?  There  were  also  other  matters  equally  grave 
which  oppressed  the  Abbess'  mind.  Hellayne's  connection 
with  one  who  had  committed  the  unspeakable  crime  might 
militate  against  her  remaining  at  the  convent.  Yet  she  hesi 
tated  to  send  her  out  into  the  world,  unprotected  and  alone. 

For  a  time  there  was  silence.  Hellayne,  utterly  exhausted 
from  the  recital  of  a  past,  which  had  reopened  every  wound 
in  her  heart,  causing  it  to  bleed  anew,  anxious,  afraid,  doubt 
ing  and  wondering  how  far  her  protectress  might  go,  stood 
before  the  woman  who  seemed  to  hold  in  her  hand  both  her 
own  fate  and  that  of  her  lover. 

"  I  will  retire  to  my  cell  and  pray  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  for 
light  to  guide  my  steps,"  the  Abbess  said  at  last,  laying  her 
hand  on  Hellayne's  head.  "  Do  not  venture  away  too  far," 
she  enjoined,  "  and  come  to  me  after  the  Ave  Maria.  Per 
chance  I  may  then  know  what  to  counsel." 

Hellayne  bowed  her  head  and  kissed  the  hem  of  the 
Abbess'  robe. 

After  she  had  left,  Hellayne  remained  standing  where  she 
was,  transfixed  with  anxiety  and  grief. 

What  forces  of  gloom  and  evil  encompassed  her  on  all 
sides?  The  man  to  whom  she  had  given  her  youth  and 
beauty,  who  had  plucked  the  flower  which  others  had  vainly 
desired,  instead  of  cherishing  the  gift  she  had  bestowed  upon 
him, had  trampled  the  delicate  blossom  in  the  dust.  He,  to 
whom  her  heart  belonged  ever  since  she  had  power  to  think, 
was  doomed  for  a  deed  too  terrible  to  name.  She  had  been 
ruthlessly  sacrificed  by  the  one,  and  now  the  other  had 


THE  LURE  373 

failed  her,  and  a  third  tried  to  encompass  her  ruin.  And  she 
was  alone  —  utterly  alone! 

What  was  she  to  do?  To  request  an  audience  of  the 
Cardinal-Archbishop  was  little  short  of  madness.  In  her 
own  heart  Hellayne  doubted  seriously  that  the  Abbess  would 
concern  herself  any  further  about  her  or  her  distress.  Never 
theless  she  felt  that  something  must  be  done.  This  inertia 
which  was  creeping  over  her  would  drive  her  mad.  But 
first  of  all  she  must  know  the  nature  of  the  charge  placed 
against  the  man  she  loved  before  she  would  determine  what 
to  do.  In  vain  she  taxed  her  tired  brain  for  a  ray  of  hope  in 
the  encompassing  gloom. 

The  long  lights  of  the  afternoon  crossed  and  recrossed  the 
sanctuary  of  Santa  Maria  hi  Trastevere  when  Hellayne,  after 
an  hour  of  fervent  prayer,  emerged  from  its  portals  and  took 
the  direction  of  the  Tiber,  where  she  sat  on  her  accustomed 
seat  and  brooded  over  her  misery. 

At  last  the  sunset  came.  The  ashen  color  of  the  olive  trees 
flashed  out  into  silver.  The  mountain  peaks  of  distant  Alba 
became  faintly  flushed  and  phantom  fair  as,  in  a  tempest  of 
fire,  the  sun  sank  to  rest.  The  forests  of  ilex  and  arbutus  on 
the  Janiculum  Hill  seemed  to  tremble  with  delight  as  the 
long  red  heralds  touched  their  topmost  boughs.  The  whole 
landscape  seemed  to  smile  farewell  to  departing  day. 

As  she  sat  there,  Hellayne's  attention  was  attracted  to  a 
woman  who  had  paused  near  the  river's  edge.  There  was 
nothing  remarkable  either  in  her  carriage  or  apparel.  It  was 
a  wrinkled  hag,  swart,  snake-locked,  cowled,  her  dress  jin 
gling  with  sequins,  her  right  hand  clawed  upon  a  crooked 
staff.  She  appeared,  in  fact,  just  an  old  Levantine  hoodie- 
crow  of  the  breed  which  was  familiar  enough  in  Rome  in 
those  cataclysmic  days,  when  all  sorts  of  queer,  tragic  fowl 
were  being  driven  northward  from  over  seas  before  the  tidal 
wave  of  invading  Islam.  Her  speech  as  well  as  her  manners 
and  dress  betrayed  Oriental  origin. 


374  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

As  she  hobbled  up  to  where  Hellayne  was  seated  she 
stopped  and  asked  some  trifling  question  about  her  way, 
which  Hellayne  pointed  with  some  hesitation,  explaining  that 
she  was  herself  a  stranger  in  Rome,  and  knew  not  the  direction 
of  the  city. 

The  old  crone  seemed  interested. 

"  In  yonder  cloister  —  yet  not  of  it?  "  she  queried,  pointing 
with  the  crooked  staff  to  the  convent  walls  that  towered 
darkly  behind  them  in  the  evening  dusk. 

Her  penetration  startled  Hellayne. 

"  How  did  you  guess,  old  mother?  "  she  queried  with  a 
look  of  awe,  which  was  not  unremarked  by  the  other. 

"  Ay  —  there  is  lore  enough  under  these  faded  locks  of 
mine  to  turn  the  foulest  cesspool  in  Rome  as  clear  as  crystal, 
or  to  change  this  staff  whereon  I  lean  into  a  thing  that  creeps 
and  hisses,"  she  said  with  a  low  laugh. 

Hellayne  shrank  back  from  her  with  a  gesture  of  dismay. 
Believing  implicitly  in  their  power,  she  felt  a  deadly  fear  of 
those  who  professed  the  black  arts. 

The  old  woman  read  her  thoughts. 

"  My  daughter,"  she  said, "  be  not  afraid  of  the  old  woman's 
secret  gifts.  Mine  is  a  harmless  knowledge,  gained  by  study 
of  the  scrolls  of  wise  men,  in  my  own  native  land.  Fear  not, 
I  say,  for  I,  who  have  pored  over  those  mystic  characters  till 
me  eyes  grew  dim,  can  read  your  sweet  pale  face  as  plainly 
as  the  brazen  tablets  in  the  Forum,  and  I  can  see  in  it  sorrow 
and  care  and  anxiety  for  one  you  love." 

Hellayne  gave  a  start. 

It  was  true !  But  how  had  the  old  crone  found  it  out !  She 
glanced  wistfully  at  her  companion,  and  the  latter,  satisfied 
she  was  on  the  right  track,  proceeded  to  answer  that  ques 
tioning  glance.  - 

"  You  think  he  is  in  danger,  or  in  grief,"  she  continued 
mysteriously,  "  and  you  wonder  why  he  does  not  come. 
What  would  you  not  give,  my  poor  child,  to  see  him  this  very 


THE  LURE  375 

moment  —  to  look  into  his  face  —  his  eyes.  And  I  can  show 
him  to  you,  if  you  will.  I  am  not  ungrateful,  even  for  a  slight 
service." 

The  blood  mounted  to  Hellayne's  brow,  and  a  strange 
light  kindled  in  her  eyes,  while  a  soft  radiance  swept  over  her 
face  such  as  comes  into  every  countenance  when  the  heart 
vibrates  with  an  illusion  to  its  happiness,  as  though  the 
silver  cord  thrilled  to  the  touch  of  an  angel's  wing.  It  was 
no  clumsy  guess  of  the  wise  woman  to  infer  that  the  woman 
before  her  loved. 

"  What  mean  you?  "  asked  Hellayne  eagerly.  "  How  can 
you  show  him  to  me?  What  do  you  know  of  him?  Where 
is  he?  Is  he  safe?  " 

The  wise  woman  smiled.  Here  was  a  bird  flying  blindly 
into  the  net.  Take  her  by  her  affections,  there  would  be 
little  difficulty  in  the  capture. 

"  He  is  in  danger  —  in  grave  danger,"  she  replied.  "  But 
you  could  save  him,  if  you  only  knew  how.  He  might  be 
happy,  too,  if  he  would.  But  —  with  another!  " 

To  do  Hellayne  justice,  she  heard  only  the  first  sentence. 

"  In  grave  danger,"  she  repeated.  "  I  knew  it!  And  I 
could  save  him !  Oh,  tell  me  where  he  is,  and  what  I  can  do 
for  him?  " 

The  wise  woman  pulled  a  small  mirror  from  her  bosom. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  replied.  "  But  I  can  show  him  to 
you.  Only  not  here,  where  the  shadow  of  any  chance  passer 
by  might  destroy  the  charmi  Let  us  turn  aside  into  yonder 
ruins.  There  is  no  one  near,  and  you  shall  gaze  without 
interruption  into  the  face  of  him  you  love  —  " 

It  was  but  a  short  way  off,  though  the  ruins  which  sur 
rounded  it  made  the  place  lonely  and  secluded.  Had  it 
been  twice  the  distance  however,  Hellayne  would  have 
accompanied  her  new  acquaintance  for  Tristan's  sake,  in  the 
eagerness  to  obtain  tidings  of  his  fate.  As  she  approached 


376  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

the  ruins  she  could  not  repress  a  faint  sigh,  which  was  not 
lost  on  her  companion. 

"  It  was  here  you  parted,"  she  said.  "  It  is  here  you  shall 
see  him  again." 

This  was  scarcely  a  random  shaft,  for  it  required  little 
penetration  to  discover  that  Hellayne  had  some  tender  asso 
ciation  connected  with  a  spot,  the  solitude  of  which  appealed 
to  her  in  so  great  a  degree. 

Nevertheless  the  utterance  convinced  Hellayne  of  her 
companion's  supernatural  power  and,  though  it  roused  alarm, 
it  excited  curiosity  to  a  still  greater  degree. 

"  Take  the  mirror  in  your  hand,"  whispered  the  wise 
woman,  when  they  reached  the  portico,  casting  a  searching 
glance  around.  "  Shut  your  eyes  while  I  speak  the  charm 
that  calls  him  three  times  over,  and  then  look  steadily  on  its 
surface  till  I  have  counted  ten." 

Hellayne  obeyed  these  instructions  implicitly.  Standing 
hi  the  centre  of  the  ruin  with  the  mirror  in  her  hand,  she 
shut  her  eyes  and  listened  intently  to  the  low  solemn  tones 
of  the  woman's  chanting,  while  from  the  deep  shadows  of 
the  ruin  there  stole  out  a  muffled  form  and  at  the  same  time 
a  half  dozen  sbirri  rose  from  their  different  hiding  places 
among  the  ruins. 

Ere  the  incantation  had  been  twice  repeated,  the  leader 
threw  a  scarf  over  Hellayne's  head,  muffling  her  so  com- 
.  pletely  that  an  outcry  was  impossible. 

Resistlessly  she  felt  herself  taken  up  and  carried  to  a 
chariot,  which  was  waiting  a  short  space  away.  A  moment 
later  the  driver  whipped  the  horses  into  a  gallop  and  the 
vehicle  with  its  occupants  and  burden  disappeared  hi  the 
gathering  dusk. 


CHAPTER  IV 


A  LYING  ORACLE 

T  was  an  eventful  night  in 
Rdme  and,  although  for  that 
reason  well  adapted  to  deeds 
of  violence,  the  tumult  and 
confusion  exacted  great  caution 
from  those  who  wished  to 
proceed  without  interruption 
along  the  streets. 

A  storm  had  burst  as  out  of  a 
clear  sky,  and  was  sweeping  in 
its  fury  throughout  a  large  portion  of  the  city.  Like  all 
similar  outbreaks,  it  gathered  force  from  many  sources  un 
connected  with  its  original  course. 

Rome  was  the  theatre  that  night  of  a  furious  strife  between 
the  great  feudal  houses  which  lorded  it  over  the  city. 

The  Leoninecity  with  its  protecting  walls  did  not  exist  until 
some  decades  later.    Thus,  not  only  hordes  of  marauding 
Saracens,  but  Franks  and  Teutons  used  to  make  occasional 
inroads  to  the  very  gates  of  the  city.      On  this  evening  Pan- 
dulph  of  Benevento,  having  taken  umbrage  at  some  decision 
of  the  Sacred  Consistory  regarding  the  lands  he  held  as  fief 
of  the  Church,  conferring  upon  him  a  title  which  was  disputed 
by  Wido  of  Praeneste,  had  broken  into  the  city  and  a  bloody 
and  obstinate  conflict  was  being  waged  between  his  forces 
and  the  soldiers  of  the  Church.     The  Roman  nobles,  ever 
restless  and  ready  to  revolt  alike  from  the  authority  of  the 
Emperor  or  of  the  Church,  would  not  let  this  glorious  oppor 
tunity  pass  without  reminding  those  in  power  that  they  had 


378  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

built  upon  a  volcano.  They  joined  in  the  fray,  some  taking 
the  part  of  the  invader,  others  of  the  Church. 

An  hour  or  two  before  sunset  an  undisciplined  horde  of 
mercenaries,  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  formidable  chiefly  for  the 
wild  fury  with  which  they  seemed  inspired,  attacked  the 
Mausoleum  of  the  Flavian  Emperor.  The  assailants,  having 
no  engines  of  war  either  for  protection  or  assault,  suffered 
severely  from  the  missiles  showered  upon  them  by  the 
besieged.  Being  repulsed  after  repeated  assaults,  they  threw 
flaming  torches  into  the  houses  that  lined  the  river  on  the 
opposite  shore  and  withdrew.  From  another  quarter  of  the 
city  a  large  body  of  Epirotes,  who  had  hoisted  the  standard  of 
the  Lord  Gisulph  of  Salerno  and  had  already  suffered  one 
defeat,  which  rather  roused  their  animosity  than  quelled  their 
ardor,  were  advancing  hi  good  order.  Before  the  Lateran 
they  met  the  forces  of  Pandulph  of  Benevento,  and  a  terrible 
hand-to-hand  encounter  ensued.  Nor  was  man  the  only 
demon  on  the  scene.  Unsexed  women  with  bare  bosoms, 
wild  eyes  and  streaming  hair,  the  very  outcast  of  the  Roman 
scum,  their  feet  stained  with  blood, flew  to  and  fro,  stimulating 
each  other  to  fresh  atrocities  with  wine,  caresses  and  ribald 
mirth.  It  was  a  feast  of  Death  and  Sin.  She  had  wreathed 
her  white  arms  about  the  spectral  king  and  crowned  his  flesh- 
less  head  with  her  gaudy  garlands,  wrapped  him  in  a  mantle 
of  flame  and  pressed  the  blood-red  goblet  to  his  lips,  madden 
ing  him  with  her  shrieks  of  wild,  mocking  mirth,  the  while 
mailed  feet  trampled  out  the  lives  of  their  victims  on  the  flag 
stones  of  Rome. 

Through  a  town  in  such  a  state  of  turmoil  and  confusion 
Tebaldo  took  it  upon  himself  to  conduct  in  safety  the  prize 
he  had  succeeded  in  capturing,  not,  it  must  be  confessed, 
without  many  hearty  regrets  that  he  had  ever  embarked  on 
the.  enterprise. 

It  was  indeed  a  difficult  and  perilous  task.  He  had  been 
compelled  to  dismiss  his  men  long  ago,  hi  order  not  to  attract 


A  LYING  ORACLE  379 

attention.  There  was  but  room  for  himself  and  one  stout 
slave,  beside  the  charioteer  and  his  captive.  The  latter  had 
struggled  violently  and  required  to  be  held  down  by  sheer 
force,  nor,  in  muffling  her  screams,  was  it  easy  to  observe  the 
happy  medium  between  silence  and  suffocation.  Also,  it  was 
indispensable  in  the  present  state  of  lawlessness  to  avoid 
observation,  and  the  spectacle  of  a  golden  chariot  with  a 
woman  prisoner,  gagged  and  veiled,  the  whole  drawn  by  four 
spirited  black  steeds,  was  not  calculated  to  avoid  suspicion 
and  comment.  Stefano,  Tebaldo's  underling,  had  indeed 
suggested  a  litter,  but  this  had  been  overruled  by  his  comrade 
on  the  score  of  speed,  and  now  the  congestion  of  the  streets 
made  speed  impossible.  To  be  sure,  this  enabled  his  escort 
to  keep  up  with  them  at  a  distance,  but  a  fight  at  this  present 
moment  was  little  to  Tebaldo's  taste.  The  darkness  which 
should  have  favored  him  was  dispelled  by  the  numerous 
conflagrations  in  the  various  parts  of  the  city,  and  when  the 
chariot  was  stopped  and  forced  to  run  into  a  by-street,  to 
avoid  a  crowd  running  toward  the  Campo  Marzo,  Tebaldo 
felt  his  heart  sink  within  him  in  an  access  of  terror  such  as 
even  he  had  rarely  felt  before. 

Up  one  street,  down  another,  avoiding  the  main  thorough 
fares,  now  rendered  impassable  by  the  throngs,  the  char 
ioteer  directed  his  steeds  towards  Basil's  palace  on  the 
Pincian  Hill. 

Hellayne  seemed  to  have  either  fainted,  or  resigned  her 
self  to  her  fate,  for  she  had  ceased  to  struggle  and  cowered 
on  the  floor  of  the  chariot,  silent  and  motionless.  Tebaldo 
hoped  his  difficulties  were  over,  and  promised  himself  never 
again  to  be  concerned  in  such  an  affair.  Already  he  imagined 
himself  safe  on  his  patron's  porch,  claiming  his  reward,  when 
his  advance  was  stopped  by  a  pageant,  which  promised  a 
protracted  and  hazardous  delay. 

Winding  its  slow  way  along,  with  all  the  pomp  and  splendor 
attending  it,  a  procession  of  chariots  crossed  in  front  of 


380  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Tebaldo's  steeds,  and  not  a  man  in  Rome  would  have  dared 
to  break  in  upon  the  train  of  Theodora,  who  was  abroad  to 
view  the  strife  of  the  factions,  utterly  indifferent  to  the  perils 
of  the  venture. 

It  may  be  that  something  whispered  to  Hellayne  that,  of 
the  two  perils  confronting  her,  what  she  contemplated  was 
the  lesser,  and  no  sooner  did  the  car  stop  to  let  the  chariots 
pass,  than,  tearing  away  the  bandage,  she  uttered  a  piercing 
scream,  which  brought  it  to  a  halt  at  once,  while  Tebaldo, 
trying  to  wear  a  bold  front,  quaked  in  every  limb. 

At  a  signal  from  the  woman  in  the  first  chariot  her  giant 
Africans  seized  the  shaking  Tebaldo  and  surrounded  his 
chariot.  Already  a  crowd  of  curious  spectators  was  gathering, 
and  the  glare  of  the  bonfires,  kindled  here  and  there,  shed 
its  light  on  their  dark, eager  faces,  contrasting  strangely  with 
the  veiled  form  of  a  woman,  cold  and  immobile  as  marble. 

Two  of  the  Africans  seized  Tebaldo,  and  buffeted  him 
unceremoniously  to  within  a  few  paces  of  the  occupant  of  the 
chariot.  Here  he  stood,  speechless  and  trembling,  anger  and 
fear  contending  for  the  mastery,  which  changed  to  dismay  as 
the  woman  raised  her  veil  with  a  hand  gleaming  white  as 
ivory. 

"  Do  you  know  me?  " 

Whatever  he  had  intended  to  say,  the  words  died  on 
Tebaldo's  lips. 

"The  Lady  Theodora!" 

"  You  still  have  your  wits  about  you,"  replied  the  woman. 
"  Whom  have  you  there?  " 

The  cold  sweat  stood  on  the  brow  of  Basil's  henchman. 

"  The  run-away  mistress  of  my  lord,"  he  said,  looking  from 
right  to  left  for  some  one  to  prompt  him,  some  escape  from 
the  dilemma. 

"  Who  is  your  master?  "  Theodora  queried  curtly. 

"  The  Lord  Basil  —  " 

"  The  Lord  Basil!  "  shrilled  Theodora.    "  Indeed  I  knew 


A  LYING  ORACLE  381 

not  he  had  lost  a  mistress.  Yet  I  saw  him  within  the  hour 
and  had  speech  with  him."  - 

Stefano  had  meanwhile  come  up,  composed  and  sedate, 
little  guessing  the  quality  of  his  companion's  interlocutor, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  confident  in  the  justice  of  his  case. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  this  woman?  "  Theodora  queried. 

Tebaldo  attempted  to  speak,  but  Stefano  anticipated  him. 

"  To  the  palace  of  my  Lord  Basil  on  the  Pincian  Hill,  noble 
lady,"  he  said  with  many  obese  bows.  "  Suffer  us  to  proceed, 
for  the  streets  are  becoming  more  unsafe  every  moment  and 
our  lord  will  not  be  trifled  with  in  matters  of  this  kind." 

"  Indeed,"  Theodora  interposed.  "  Is  his  heart  so  much 
set  upon  this  prize?  Ho  there,  Bahram  —  Yussuff  —  bring 
the  woman  here !  " 

Tebaldo  tried  to  worm  himself  out  of  the  clutch  of  the 
black  giants,  in  order  to  prevent  them  from  obeying 
Theodora's  order,  but  he  found  the  situation  hopeless  and 
was  about  to  address  Theodora  when  the  latter  bade  him 
be  silent.  — 

"  The  woman  shall  speak  for  herself,"  she  said  in  a  tone 
that  suffered  no  contradiction  and,  in  another  moment,  Hel- 
layne,  lifted  by  four  muscular  arms  from  the  chariot  of  her 
abductors,  stood,  released  of  her  bandages,  before  Theodora. 

All  color  left  the  Roman's  face  as  she  gazed  into  the  pallid 
and  anguished  features  of  the  woman  whom  of  all  women  on 
earth  she  feared  and  hated  most,  the  woman  who  dared  to 
enter  the  arena  with  her  for  the  love  of  the  one  man  whom 
she  was  determined  to  possess,  if  the  universe  should  crumble 
to  atoms.  Hellayne's  fear  upon  beholding  Theodora  gave 
way  to  her  pride  as  she  met  the  dark  eyes  of  the  Roman  in 
which  there  might  have  been  a  gleam  of  pity  or  a  flash  of 
scorn. 

But,  ere  Hellayne  could  speak,  finding  herself,  caught  like 
a  poor  hunted  bird,  in  one  net,  ere  she  had  well  escaped  the 
other,  Theodora  turned  to  Tebaldo. 


382   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Tell  the  Lord  Basil,  the  woman  he  craves  is  under  Theo 
dora's  roof,  and  —  if  so  he  be  inclined  —  he  may  claim  her 
at  my  hands  —  " 

The  gleaming  white  arm  went  out,  and  ere  Hellayne  knew 
what  happened,  she  found  herself  raised  into  the  second 
chariot,  where  sat  a  tall  girl  of  great  beauty,  Persephone,  the 
Circassian. 

A  signal  to  the  charioteer  and  the  pageant  moved  with 
slightly  increased  speed  towards  the  Aventine,  while  Tebaldo 
and  Stefano,  out-witted  and  non-plussed,  stared  after  the 
vanishing  procession  as  if  they  were  encompassed  by  a  night 
mare.  Then,  simultaneously,  they  broke  out  into  such  a 
chorus  of  vituperation  that  the  by-standers  shrank  back  from 
them  in  horror,  and  they  soon  found  themselves,  their  chariot 
and  its  driver,  almost  the  only  human  beings  in  the  now 
deserted  thoroughfare. 

Hellayne  meanwhile  sat,  utterly  dazed,  next  to  Persephone. 
Terrified  by  the  danger  she  had  escaped,  and  scarcely  reas 
sured  by  the  manner  of  her  rescue  she  seemed  as  one  in  a 
stupor,  unable  to  think,  unable  to  speak. 

Persephone  regarded  her  with  a  strange  fascination,  not 
unmingled  with  curiosity.  Hellayne's  fair  and  wonderful 
beauty  appealed  strangely  to  the  Circassian,  while,  with  her 
native  intuition,  she  wondered  whether  Theodora's  act  was 
prompted  by  kindness  or  revenge. 

Hellayne  seemed,  for  the  first  time, to  note  her  companion. 
Looking  into  Persephone's  eyes  she  shuddered. 

"  Where  are  we  going?  "  she  whispered,  gazing  about  in  a 
state  of  bewilderment,  as  the  procession  slowly  wound  up 
the  slopes  of  the  Mount  of  Cloisters,  and  the  broad  ribbon  of 
the  Tiber  gleamed  below  in  the  moonlight. 

A  strange  smile  curved  Persephone's  lips. 

"  To  the  Groves  of  Enchantment,"  she  replied.  "  You  are 
the  guest  of  the  Lady  Theodora." 


A  LYING  ORACLE  383 

Hellayne  brushed  back  the  silken  hair  from  her  brow  as  if 
she  were  waking  from  a  troubled  dream. 

She  gave  a  swift  glance  to  her  companion,  another  to  the 
winding  road  and,  suddenly  rising  from  her  seat,  started  to 
leap  from  the  chariot. 

Ere  she  could  carry  out  her  intent,  she  was  caught  in  the 
Circassian's  arms. 

A  silent,  but  terrible  struggle  ensued.  Notwithstanding 
her  harrowing  experiences  of  the  past  days,  despair  had  given 
back  to  Hellayne  the  strength  of  youth.  But  in  the  lithe 
Circassian  she  found  her  match  and,  after  a  few  moments, 
she  sank  back  exhausted,  Persephone's  arms  encircling  her 
like  coils  of  steel,  while  her  smiling  eyes  sank  into  her  own. 

The  palace  of  Theodora  rose  phantom-like  from  among  its 
environing  groves  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  chariots  dashed 
through  the  portals  of  the  outer  court,  which  closed  upon  the 
fantastic  procession. 


CHAPTER   V 


BITTER  WATERS 

HE  dawn  was  creeping  over  the 
Sabine  mountains  when  Tristan, 
after  having  made  good  his 
escape  from  the  dungeons  of 
Castel  San  Angelo,  reached  the 
hermitage  of  Odo  of  Cluny  on 
distant  Aven  tine. 

Fatigued  almost  to  the  point 
of  death,  bleeding  and  bruised, 
only  his  unconquerable  will  had 
urged  him  on  towards  safety. 

His  first  impulse,  after  cro  ssing  the  bridge  of  San  Angelo, 
was  to  go  to  the  Convent  of  Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere.  He 
abandoned  this  plan  upon  saner  reflection.  Doubtlessly  all 
Rome  was  instructed  regarding  the  crime  of  which  he  stood 
accused.  Recognition  meant  arrest  and  a  fate  he  dared  not 
think  of.  Tears  forced  themselv  es  into  Tristan's  eyes,  tears 
of  sheer  despair  and  hopelessness.  Now,  that  he  wasfree,he 
dared  not  follow  the  all-compelling  impulse  of  his  heart, 
assuage  the  craving  of  his  soul,  to  learn  if  Hellayne  was  safe. 
After  a  few  moments  rest  hi  the  shadow  of  a  doorway  he 
set  out  to  seek  the  one  man  hi  all  Rome  to  whom  he  dared 
reveal  himself. 

Not  a  soul  seemed  astir.  Dun  dusk  hovered  above  the 
high  houses  beyond  the  Tiber,  between  whose  silent  chasms 
Tristan,  dreading  the  echo  of  his  own  footsteps,  made  his  way 
towards  the  Church  of  the  Trespontine.  Thus,  after  a  cir- 


BITTER  WATERS  385 

cuitous  route  through  waste  and  desert  spaces,  he  reached 
the  Benedictine's  hermitage. 

Odo  stared  at  the  early  visitor  as  if  a  ghost  had  arisen  from 
the  floor  before  him.  He  had  just  concluded  his  devotions 
and  Tristan,  fearing  lest  the  Monk  of  Cluny  might  believe  in 
his  guilt,  lost  no  time  hi  stating  his  case,  pouring  forth  a  tale 
so  fantastic  and  wild  that  his  host  could  not  but  listen  in 
mingled  horror  and  amaze. 

Beginning  with  the  moment  when  he  had  been  informed  of 
Hellayne's  sudden  death,  he  omitted  not  a  detail  up  to  the 
tune  of  his  escape  from  the  dungeon,  which  to  him  meant 
nothing  less  than  the  antechamber  of  death.  Minutely  he 
dwelt  upon  his  watch  in  the  Lateran,  laying  particular  stress 
upon  the  deadly  drowsiness,  which  had  gradually  overtaken 
him,  binding  his  limbs  as  with  cords  of  steel.  Graphically 
he  depicted  his  awakening,  when  he  found  himself  surrounded 
by  the  high  prelates  of  the  Church  who  faced  him  with  the 
supposed  evidence  of  a  crime  of  which  he  knew  nothing.  And 
lastly  he  repeated  almost  word  for  word  the  strange  discourse 
he  had  overheard  in  his  dungeon  between  Basil  and  the 
Oriental. 

A  ghastly  pallor  flitted  over  the  features  of  Odo  of  Cluny 
at  the  latter  intelligence. 

"  If  this  be  true  indeed  —  if  Alberic  is  dead  —  woe  be  to 
Rome !  It  is  too  monstrous  for  belief,  and  yet  —  I  have 
suspected  it  long." 

For  a  time  Odo  relapsed  into  silence,  brooding  over  the 
tidings  of  doom,  and  Tristan,  though  many  questions  struggled 
for  utterance,  waited  hi  anxious  suspense. 

At  last  the  monk  resumed. 

"  I  see  in  this  the  hand  of  one  who  never  strikes  but  to 
destroy.  The  blow  falls  unseen,  yet  the  aim  is  sure.  I  have 
not  been  idle,  yet  do  I  not  hold  in  my  hand  all  the  threads  of 
the  dark  web  that  encompasses  us.  Of  the  crime  of  which 
you  stand  accused  I  know  you  to  be  innocent.  Nevertheless 


386  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

-  you  dare  not  show  yourself  in  Rome.  Your  escape  from 
your  dungeon  once  discovered,  not  a  nook  or  corner  of  Rome 
will  remain  unsearched.  They  dare  not  let  you  live,  for  your 
existence  spells  their  doom.  They  will  not  look  for  you  in 
this  hermitage.  It  has  many  secret  winding  passages,  and 
it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  elude  them.  Therefore,  my  son, 
school  your  soul  to  patience,  for  here  you  must  remain  till  we 
have  assembled  around  the  banner  of  the  Cross  the  forces  of 
Light  against  the  legions  of  Hell." 

"  What  of  the  woman,  Father,  who  is  awaiting  my  return 
at  the  Convent  of  Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere?  "  Tristan  turned 
to  the  monk  hi  a  pleading,  stifled  voice.  "  Doubtless  the 
terrible  rumor  has  reached  her  ear." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  while  convulsive  sobs 
shook  his  whole  frame. 

Odo  tried  to  soothe  him. 

"  This  is  hardly  the  spirit  I  expected  of  one  who  has  hitherto 
shown  so  brave  a  front,  and  whose  aim  it  is  not  to  anticipate 
the  blows  of  chance." 

"  Nevertheless,  Father,  it  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  I  have 
no  lust  for  life,  and  care  not  what  fate  has  in  store  for  me, 
for  my  heart  is  heavy  within  me,  and  all  the  fountains  of  my 
hopes  are  dried  up,  until  I  know  the  fate  of  the  Lady  Hellayne 
—  and  know  from  her  own  lips  that  she  does  not  believe  this 
devilish  calumny." 

A  troubled  look  passed  into  Odo's  face. 

"  If  she  still  is  at  the  convent  of  the  Blessed  Sisters  of 
Trastevere  she  is  undoubtedly  safe,"  he  said,  but  there 
was  something  hi  his  tone  which  struck  Tristan's  ear  with 
dismay. 

"  You  are  keeping  something  from  me,  Father,"  he  said 
falteringly.  "  Tell  me  the  worst!  For  this  anxiety  is  worse 
than  death.  Where  is  the  Lady  Hellayne?  Is  she  —  dead?  " 

"  Would  she  were,"  replied  the  monk  gloomily.  "  I  wished 
to  spare  you  the  tidings!  She  was  taken  from  the  convent 


BITTER  WATERS  387 

on  some  pretext  —  the  nature  of  which  I  know  not.  At 
present  she  is  at  the  palace  of  Theodora  on  Mount  Aventine." 

Tristan  sat  up  as  if  electrified. 

"  At  the  palace  of  Theodora?  "  he  cried.  "  How  is  this 
known  to  you?  " 

"  Little  transpires  in  Rome  which  I  do  not  know,"  Odo 
replied  darkly.  "  It  seems  that  those  whom  the  Lord  Basil 
entrusted  with  the  task  of  abdticting  the  woman  were  in  turn 
outwitted  by  Theodora  who,  in  rescuing  her  from  a  fate  worse 
than  death  at  the  hands  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  has  per 
chance  consigned  her  to  one  equally,  if  not  more,  cruel." 

A  moan  broke  from  Tristan's  lips.  Then  he  was  seized 
with  a  terrible  fit  of  rage. 

"  Then  it  is  Theodora's  hand  that  has  sundered  us  in  the 
flesh  as  her  witches'  beauty  had  estranged  our  hearts.  More 
merciless  than  a  beast  of  prey  she  did  not  strike  Hellayne 
with  death,  so  that  I  might  have  sentinelled  her  hallowed 
tomb,  and  with  her  sweet  memory  for  company  might  have 
watched  for  the  coming  of  my  own  hour  to  join  her  again  I 
I  have  lost  my  love  —  my  honor  —  my  manhood  —  at  the 
hands  of  a  wanton." 

Odo  tried  for  a  time,  though  in  vain,  to  calm  him  by  remind 
ing  him  that  Hellayne  would  rather  suffer  death  than  dis 
honor.  As  regarded  himself,  he  was  convinced  that  Theodora 
would  have  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  have  set  him  free, 
had  not  his  supposed  crime  concerned  the  Church  and  the 
Cardinal-Archbishop  was  adamant. 

"  Oft,  in  my  visions,"  he  concluded,  speaking  lower,  as  if 
his  mind  strove  with  some  vague  elusive  memory,  "  have  I 
heard  the  voice  of  Theodora's  doom  cried  aloud.  A  cruel 
fate  is  yours  indeed  —  and  we  can  but  pray  to  the  saints  that 
the  worst  may  be  averted  from  the  woman  who  has  suffered 
so  much." 

"  Something  must  be  done,"  Tristan  interposed,  his  fierce 
mood  gaining  the  mastery  over  every  other  feeling.  "  I  care 


388  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

not  if  the  minions  of  the  devil  take  me  back  to  the  prison  that 
leads  to  death,  so  I  snatch  her  prey  from  this  arch- courtesan 
of  the  Aventine." 

Odo  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  his  arm. 

'*  Madman!  You  are  but  planning  your  own  destruction. 
And,  if  you  die,  wherein  will  it  benefit  the  woman  who  is  left 
to  her  fate?  You  are  weak  from  the  night's  work  and  your 
nerves  are  overwrought.  Follow  me  into  the  adjoining  room 
even  though  the  repast  be  meagre.  We  will  devise  some 
means  to  rescue  the  Lady  Hellayne  from  the  powers  of  dark 
ness  and,  trusting  in  Him  who  died  that  we  may  live,  we 
shall  succeed." 

Pointing  to  the  drooping  form  of  the  crucified  Christ  on 
the  opposite  wall  of  his  improvised  oratory,  Odo  beckoned  to 
Tristan  to  follow  him,  and  the  latter  accompanied  the  Bene 
dictine  into  the  adjoining  rock  chamber,  where  he  did  ample 
justice  to  the  frugal  repast  which  Odo  placed  before  him,  and 
of  which  the  monk  himself  partook  but  sparingly. 


CHAPTER   VI 


FROM   DREAM    TO    DREAM 


HEODORA'S  sleep  had  been 
broken  and  restless.  She  tossed 
and  turned  upon  her  pillow.  It 
was  weary  work  to  lie  gazing 
with  eyes  wide  open  at  the  fan 
tastic  shadows  cast  by  the 
flickering  night  lamp.  It  was 
still  less  productive  of  sleep  to 
shut  them  tight  and  abandon 
herself  to  the  visions  thus  cre 
ated  which  stood  out  in  life-like  colors  and  refused  to  be 
dispelled.  Do  what  she  would  to  forget  him,  Tristan  ever 
and  ever  stood  before  her,  towering  like  a  demigod  above  the 
mean,  effeminate  throng  that  surrounded  her.  She  could  no 
longer  analyze  her  feelings.  She  believed  herself  to  be 
bewitched.  She  had  not  reached  the  prime  of  womanhood 
without  having  sounded,  as  she  thought,  every  chord  of  the 
human  heart.  Descendant  from  a  family  of  courtesans,  such 
as  had  ruled  Rome  during  the  tenth  century,  she  had  tasted 
every  cup,  as  she  thought,  that  promised  gratification  and 
excitement.  She  had  been  flattered,  courted,  loved,  admired. 
Yet  she  had  remained  utterly  cold  to  all  these  experiences, 
and  none  of  her  lovers  could  boast  that  her  passion  had 
endured  beyond  the  hour.  The  terrible  fascination  she  exer 
cised  over  all  men  made  them  slaves  in  her  hands,  blind 
instruments  of  her  will.  But,  as  the  years  went  by,  the  utter 
disgust  she  felt  with  these  hordes  of  beasts  that  throngod  her 
bowers,  was  only  equalled  by  a  mad  desire  for  power,  a 


390   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

struggle,  which  alone  could  bring  to  her  oblivion.  To  rule 
had  become  a  passion  with  the  woman,  who  had  no  heart 
interest  that  made  life  worth  living.  The  fleeting  passion 
for  Basil  had  long  ceased  to  kindle  a  responsive  fire  in  her 
veins.  Fit  but  to  be  her  tool,  she  was  determined  to  rid 
herself  of  him  as  soon  as  her  ambition  should  have  been 
realized. 

Suddenly  the  unbelievable  had  come  to  pass.  She  had 
met  a  man.  Not  one  of  those  crawling,  fawning  reptiles  who 
nightly  desecrated  her  groves,  but  a  man  who  might  have 
steered  her  life  into  different  channels,  who  might  have 
directed  the  flight  of  her  soul  to  regions  of  light,  instead  of 
chaining  it  to  the  dark  abyss  among  the  shadows.  It  was  a 
new  sensation  altogether.  This  intense  and  passionate  long 
ing  she  had  never  felt  before.  But  in  its  novelty  it  was 
absolutely  painful.  For  the  man  whom  she  craved  with  all 
the  fibres  of  her  being,  to  whom  her  soul  went  out  as  it  had 
never  gone  out  to  mortal,  had  scorned  her. 

Her  fame  had  proved  more  potent  than  her  beauty. 

Tristan's  continued  indifference  had  roused  in  her  all  the 
demons  in  her  nature.  Her  first  impulse  had  been  revenge 
at  any  price.  Her  compact  with  Basil  was  the  fruit  of  her 
first  madness.  Even  now  she  would  have  rescinded  it  had 
Tristan  but  shown  a  softer,  kindlier  feeling  towards  her. 
Some  incongruous  whim  had  prompted  her  to  choose  for  her 
instrument  the  very  man  whom  in  her  heart  she  loathed, 
whose  attentions  were  an  insult  to  her.  For,  in  her  own 
heart,  Theodora  held  herself  to  be  some  God-decreed  thing, 
like  the  Laides  and  Thaides  and  Phrynes  of  old.  She  could 
not  escape  her  destiny. 

With  all  her  self-command  Theodora's  feelings  had  almost 
overpowered  her.  Ever  since  the  tidings  of  Tristan's  sup 
posed  crime  and  captivity  had  reached  her  ear,  she  had  taxed 
her  brain,  though  in  vain,  to  bring  about  his  rescue.  For 
once  her  efforts  were  baffled  and  she  met  a  resistance  which 


FROM  DREAM  TO  DREAM   391 

all  the  tigerish  ferocity  of  her  nature  could  not  overcome. 
Tristan  was  in  the  custody  of  the  Church.  In  his  guilt  Theo 
dora  did  not  believe,  rather  did  she  suspect  foul  play  at  the 
hands  of  one  of  whom  she  would  demand  a  terrible  reckoning. 
She  thought  of  Tristan  night  and  day,  and  she  was  deter 
mined  to  save  him,  whatever  the  hazard,  —  save  him  for 
herself  and  her  love.  Her  spies  were  at  work,  but  mean 
while  she  must  sit  idly  by  and  wait  —  wait,  though  the  blood 
coursed  like  lava  through  her  veins.  She  dared  confide  in 
none,  nor  could  she  even  have  speech  with  the  man  she  loved. 
She  had  managed  to  curb  her  feelings  and  to  preserve  an 
outward  calm,  while  Persephone  prepared  her  for  repose. 
The  latter  was  much  puzzled  by  her  mistress's  mood,  but 
she  retired  to  her  own  couch  carefree,  while  Theodora  writhed 
in  an  agony  such  as  she  had  never  known  before. 

Yet,  fate  had  been  kind  to  her,  —  kinder  than  she  had 
dared  to  hope.  By  some  fatal  throw  of  chance  the  woman 
Tristan  loved  —  her  rival  —  had  fallen  into  her  hands.  While 
this  circumstance  did  not  in  itself  take  the  sting  of  Tristan's 
insult  from  the  wound,  she  would,  at  least,  be  revenged  upon 
the  cause  of  her  suffering. 

When,  on  that  memorable  evening  at  the  Arch  of  the  Seven 
Candles,  she  had  first  met  Hellayne  face  to  face,  when  first 
the  truth  had  flashed  upon  her  and  she  knew  herself  rejected 
for  that  white  lily  from  the  North,  a  hatred  such  as  she  had 
never  known  had  crept  into  her  heart,  a  hatred  to  which 
fresh  fuel  was  added  from  the  consciousness  of  her  rival's 
beauty,  her  strength,  her  youth.  With  all  the  fire  of  her 
southern  temperament  she  longed  to  meet  this  woman,  to 
conquer  her,  to  take  from  her  the  man  she  loved. 

Morning  brought  in  its  wake  its  unfailing  accession  of 
clear-sightedness  and  practical  resolve.  Long  before  she 
rose  she  had  made  up  her  mind  where  and  how  to  strike. 
Nothing  remained  but  to  choose  the  weapon  and  to  put  a 
keener  edge  upon  the  steel. 


392   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

When  Persephone  came  to  assist  her  mistress,  she  won 
dered  how  the  mood  of  the  evening  had  passed.  While 
attiring  Theodora,  the  Circassian  could  not  but  wonder  at  the 
marvellous  beauty  of  this  woman  who  had  bent  the  hearts  of 
men  to  her  desires  like  wind  blown  reeds,  only  to  break  them 
and  cast  them  at  their  feet.  Only  on  the  previous  day  a  new 
wooer  had  entered  the  lists;  a  man  rude  of  speech  and  man 
ner,  vain  withal  and  self-satisfied,  had  laid  gifts  at  Theodora's 
feet.  Roger  de  Laval  was  the  great  man's  name.  He  came 
from  some  far  away,  fabled  land,  and  it  was  rumored  that  he 
had  come  to  Rome  to  seek  his  truant  wife.  Having  surprised 
her  in  the  arms  of  her  lover,  whom  she  had  followed,  he  had 
killed  both.  Such  a  temper  was  to  the  liking  of  Perse 
phone,  and,  as  her  soft  white  fingers  played  around  her 
mistress'  throat,  in  the  endeavor  to  fasten  her  rose-colored 
tunic,  she  could  hardly  restrain  herself  from  encircling  that 
white  throat  and  strangling  the  woman  who  had  spurned  the 
attentions  of  one  for  whose  love  she  would  have  sacrificed 
her  soul. 

"  What  of  the  Lady  Hellayne?  "  Theodora  broke  the  heavy 
silence. 

"  She  remains  in  the  chamber  which  the  Lady  Theodora 
has  assigned  to  her."  Persephone  replied. 
"  Are  the  eunuchs  at  their  post?  " 
"  Before  her  door  and  beneath  her  windows." 
Theodora  gave  a  nod. 
"  Bring  the  Lady  Hellayne  here !  " 
"  The  Lady  Theodora  has  not  breakfasted." 
"  I  know !    Yet  I  would  not  delay  this  meeting  longer." 
Persephone  hesitated. 

"  The  Lady  Hellayne  is  in  a  perilous  mood  —  " 
"  I  should  love  nothing  better  than  to  find  her  so,"  Theo 
dora  replied,  extending  her  two  snowy  arms,  whose  steely 
strength  Persephone  knew  so  well.     "I  long  for  the  conflict 
with  this  marble  statue  as  I  have  never  longed  for  anything 


FROM  DREAM  TO  DREAM    393 

in  my  life.  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  happy  if  she 
destroyed  me  with  those  white  hands  that  rival  mine,  if  she 
but  stepped  out  of  her  reserve,  her  marble  calm,  if  her  soul 
ignited  from  mine." 

"  If  I  know  aught  about  her  kind,  the  Lady  Theodora  will 
do  well  to  be  wary,"  Persephone  replied  demurely. 

The  covert  taunt  had  its  instantaneous  effect. 

"  Deem  you  I  fear  this  white  siren  from  the  North?  " 
Theodora  flashed,  regarding  herself  hi  the  bronze  mirror  and 
brushing  a  stray  lock  of  hair  from  her  white  brow. 

"  What  will  you  do  with  her,  Lady  Theodora?  "  Persephone 
purred. 

Theodora's  face  was  very  white. 

"  There  are  times  when  nothing  but  the  physical  touch  will 
satisfy.  And  now  go  and  fetch  hither  the  Lady  Hellayne 
that  I  may  hear  from  her  own  lips  how  she  fared  under  the 
roof  of  her  rival." 

Persephone  departed  from  the  room,  while  Theodora  arose 
and,  stepping  to  the  casement,  looked  out  into  the  blossoming 
gardens  that  encircled  her  palace. 

Her  beauty  was  regal  indeed,  as  she  stood  there  brooding, 
her  bare  arms  dropping  by  her  side.  But  for  the  expression 
of  the  eyes,  in  which  a  turmoil  of  passion  seemed  to  seethe, 
the  wonderful  face  in  repose  would  have  seemed  that  of  an 
angel  rather  than  a  woman  meditating  the  destruction  of 
another. 

After  a  time  Persephone  returned.  By  her  side  walked 
Hellayne. 

Her  beauty  seemed  even  enhanced  by  the  expression  of 
suffering  revealed  in  the  depths  of  her  blue  eyes.  She  wore 
a  dark  robe,  almost  severe  in  its  straight  lines.  The  loose 
sleeves  revealed  her  white  arms.  Her  hair  was  tied  hi  a 
Grecian  knot. 

At  a  sign  from  Theodora  Persephone  left  the  room. 

For  a  moment  the  two  women  faced  each  other  in  silence, 


394  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

fixing  each  other  with  their  gaze,  each  trying  to  read  the 
thoughts  of  the  other. 

It  was  Hellayne  who  spoke. 

"  The  Lady  Theodora  has  desired  my  presence." 

"  It  was  my  anxiety  for  your  welfare,  Lady  Hellayne," 
Theodora  replied,  inviting  her  to  a  seat,  while  she  seated 
herself  opposite  her  visitor.  "  After  the  trying  experi 
ences  of  yesterday  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  shadows  that  creep 
under  your  eyes.  They  but  prove  that  my  anxiety  was  well 
founded.  May  I  ask  if  you  rested  well?  " 

"  I  owe  you  thanks,  Lady  Theodora,  for  your  timely  aid," 
Hellayne  replied  in  cold,  passionless  accents.  "  They  tell 
me  I  was  in  dire  straits,  though  I  cannot  conceive  who  should 
care  to  abduct  one  who  would  so  little  repay  ,the  effort." 

"  Enough  to  infatuate  him,  whoever  he  was,  with  a  beauty 
as  rare  as  it  is  wonderful,"  Theodora  replied,  forced  to  an 
expression  of  her  own  admiration  at  the  sight  of  the  exquisite 
face,  the  white  throat,  the  wonderful  arms  and  hands  of  her 
rival.  "  I  but  did  what  any  woman  would  do  for  another 
whose  life  she  saw  imperilled.  Your  wonderful  youth  and 
strength  will  soon  restore  you  to  your  former  self.  Deign 
then  to  accept  the  hospitality  of  this  abode  until  such  a  time." 

There  was  a  pause  during  which  each  seemed  to  search 
the  soul  of  the  other. 

It  was  Hellayne  who  spoke. 

"  I  thank  you,  Lady  Theodora.  Nevertheless  I  intend  to 
depart  at  the  earliest.  I  can  picture  to  myself  the  anxiety 
of  the  Blessed  Sisters  of  Santa  Maria  in  Trastevere  at  my 
mysterious  disappearance." 

"  You  intend  taking  holy  orders?  " 

Theodora's  question  was  pregnant  with  a  strange  wonder. 

A  negative  gesture  came  in  response. 

"  The  convent  proved  a  haven  of  refuge  to  me  when  I  was 
sorely  tried." 

"  Yet  —  you  cannot  return  there,"  Theodora  interposed. 


FROM  DREAM  TO  DREAM   395 

"  You  would  not  be  safe.  Know  you  from  whose  minions 
my  Africans  rescued  you  on  yester  eve?  " 

Hellayne's  wide  eyes  were  silent  questioners. 

"  Then  listen  well  and  ponder.  You  were  in  the  power  of 
the  Lord  Basil.  And  that  which  he  desires  he  usually 
9btains." 

Hellayne  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"The  Lord  Basil!" 

"  You  know  him,  Lady  Hellayne?  " 

"  Slightly.  He  was  wont  to  call  upon  the  man  I  once  called 
my  husband." 

"  The  man  you  deserted  for  another." 

Hellayne's  eyes  glittered  like  steel. 

"  That  is  a  matter  which  concerns  only  myself,  Lady  Theo 
dora,"  she  said  coldly.  "  You  saved  my  honor  —  perchance 
my  life.  For  this  I  thank  you.  I  shall  depart  at  once." 

She  walked  to  the  door,  opened  it  and  recoiled. 

Before  it  stood  two  Africans  with  gleaming  scimitars. 

White  to  the  lips,  Hellayne  closed  the  door  and  faced  Theo 
dora. 

"  Lady  Theodora  —  why  are  these  there?" 

Theodora's  smouldering  gaze  met  the  fire  in  the  other 
woman's  eyes. 

"  Those  who  come  to  the  bowers  of  Theodora,  remain," 
she  said  slowly. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  will  detain  me  by  force 
within  these  walls  of  infamy?  " 

"  Your  language  is  a  trifle  harsh,  fairest  Lady  Hellayne," 
Theodora  replied  mockingly.  "Your  over-wrought  nerves 
must  bear  the  burden  of  the  blame.  Yet,  whatever  it  may 
please  you  to  call  the  place  where  Theodora  dwells,  always 
remember,  I  am  Theodora.  You  have  heard  of  me  before." 

"  Yes  —  I  have  heard  of  you  before !  " 

The  calm  and  cutting  contempt  which  lingered  in  these 
words  stung  Theodora  like  a  whip-lash. 


396  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  You  know  then,  Lady  Hellayne,  it  is  your  will  against 
mine  1  We  have  met  before !  " 

"  You  mean  to  detain  me  here,  against  my  will?  " 

"  Whether  I  detain  you  or  no  —  shall  depend  upon  your 
self.  We  are  two  women  —  young,  —  beautiful  —  passion 
ate  —  determined  to  win  that  which  we  deem  our  happiness. 
I  will  be  plain  with  you.  All  the  reverses  and  heartaches  of 
months  and  days  are  wiped  out  in  this  glorious  moment  when 
I  hold  you  here  in  my  power.  For  once  my  guardian  angel, 
if  I  can  still  boast  of  one,  has  been  kind  to  me.  He  has 
delivered  you  into  my  hands  —  and  I  shall  bend  or  break 
you ! " 

Hellayne  listened  to  this  outburst  of  passion  with  outward 
calm,  though  her  heart  beat  so  wildly  that  she  thought  the 
other  woman  must  hear  it  through  the  deadly  silence  which 
prevailed  for  a  space. 

"  You  will  bend  or  break  me,  Lady  Theodora?  "  Hellayne 
replied  with  a  pathetic  shrug.  "  There  is  nothing  that  you 
could  do  that  would  even  leave  a  memory.  I  have  suffered 
that  in  life  which  makes  you  to  me  but  the  nightmare  of  an 
evil  dream." 

"  We  shall  see,  Lady  Hellayne,"  Theodora  replied,  her 
passion  kindling  at  the  other  woman's  calm. 

"  What  then  is  the  ransom  you  desire,  Lady  Theodora?  " 
Hellayne  continued  sardonically.  "  A  woman  of  your  kind 
desires  but  one  thing  —  and  gold  I  do  not  possess  - 

Theodora's  eyes  scanned  Hellayne's  pale  face. 

"  Lady  Hellayne,"  she  said  slowly,  "  of  all  the  things  in 
heaven  or  on  earth  there  is  but  one  I  desire:  Tristan,  —  the 
man  you  love  —  the  man  who  loves  you  with  a  passion  so 
idolatrous  that,  did  I  possess  but  the  one  thousandth  atom  of 
what  he  gives  to  your  ice  cold  heart,  I  should  deem  myself 
blessed  above  all  women  on  earth.  Give  him  to  me  - 
renounce  him  —  and  you  are  free  to  go  wherever  your  fancy 
may  lead  you." 


FROM  DREAM  TO  DREAM   397 

Hellayne  regarded  the  speaker  as  if  she  thought  she  had 
gone  mad. 

"  Give  him  to  you?  "  she  said,  hardly  above  a  whisper,  but 
her  tone  stung  Theodora  to  the  quick. 

"  To  me !  "  she  said.  "  Look  at  me !  Am  I  not  beautiful? 
Am  I  not  created  to  make  man  happy?  What  woman  may 
match  herself  with  me?  Even  your  pale  beauty,  Lady  Hel 
layne,  is  but  as  a  disembodied  wraith  as  compared  to  mine. 
To  me!  To  me!  You  are  young,  Lady  Hellayne.  What 
can  the  sacrifice  matter  to  you?  To  you  it  can  mean  little. 
There  are  other  men  with  whom  you  may  be  happy.  For 
me  it  spells  salvation  —  or  eternal  doom !  For  I  love  him,  I 
love  him,  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul,  love  him  as  never  I 
loved  the  thing  called  man  before !  He  has  shown  to  me  one 
glimpse  of  heaven,  and  now  I  mean  to  have  him,  to  atone  for 
a  past  that  was  my  evil  inheritance,  to  taste  life  ere  I  too 
descend  to  those  shadowy  regions  whence  there  is  no  return. 
Lady  Hellayne,"  she  continued,  hardly  noting  the  expression 
of  horror  and  loathing  that  had  crept  into  Hellayne' s  coun 
tenance.  "  You  have  heard  of  me  —  you  know  who  I  am  — 
and  what!  Those  who  went  before  me  were  the  same, 
generations,  perchance.  It  rankles  in  our  blood.  But  there 
is  salvation—  even  for  such  as  myself.  To  few  it  comes,  but  I 
have  seen  the  star.  It  is  the  love  of  a  man,  pure  and  true. 
Where  such  a  one  is  found,  even  the  darkness  of  the  grave  is 
dispelled.  I  have  lived  and  loved,  Lady  Hellayne!  I  have 
been  loved  as  few  women  have.  I  have  hurled  myself  into 
this  mad  whirlpool  to  forget  —  but  forget  I  could  not.  Man, 
the  beast,  is  ever  ready  to  drag  the  woman  who  cries  for  life 
and  its  true  meaning  back  into  the  mire.  He  alone  of  all 
has  spurned  me  —  he  alone  has  resisted  the  deadly  lure  of 
my  charms.  Never  have  I  spoken  to  woman  before  as  I  am 
speaking  to  you,  Lady  Hellayne.  Hear  my  prayer!  - 
Renounce  him!  " 

Hellayne   stared  mute  at  the  speaker,  as  if  her  tongue 


398   UNDER   THE   WITCHES'  MOON 

refused  her  utterance.  Was  she  going  mad?  Theodora, 
the  courtesan  queen  of  Rome,  trying  to  obtain  salvation  by 
taking  from  her  her  lover?  She  could  almost  have  found  it 
in  her  heart  to  laugh  aloud.  A  death-bed  repentance  that 
made  the  devils  laugh!  In  her  virginal  purity  Hellayne 
could  not  fathom  what  was  going  on  in  the  soul  of  a  woman 
who  had  suddenly  awakened  to  the  terror  of  her  life  and 
was  snatching  at  the  last  straw  to  save  herself  from  drowning 
in  the  cesspool  of  vice. 

Theodora,  with  her  woman's  intuition,  saw  what  was  going 
on  in  the  other  woman's  soul.  She  noted  the  slow  trans 
formation  from  amazement  to  horror,  and  from  horror  to 
defiance.  She  saw  Hellayne  slowly  raising  herself  to  her 
full  height,  and  approaching  her,  who  had  risen,  until  her 
breath  fanned  her  cheek. 

"Give  him  to  you,  Lady  Theodora?  Surely  you  must  be 
mad  to  even  dream  of  so  monstrous  a  thing." 

She  was  very  white,  and  her  hands  were  clenched  as  if 
she  forcibly  restrained  herself  from  flying  at  her  opponent's 
throat. 

Theodora's  self-restraint  was  slowly  waning.  She  knew 
she  had  pleaded  in  vain.  She  knew  Hellayne  did  not  under 
stand,  or,  if  she  understood,  did  not  believe. 

She  spoke  calmly,  yet  there  was  something  in  her  voice 
that  warned  Hellayne  of  the  impending  storm. 

"Listen,  Lady  Hellayne,"  she  said.  "You  are  alone  in 
Rome!  At  the  mercy  of  any  one  who  desires  you!  Your 
lover  is  accused  of  the  most  heinous  crime.  He  has  taken 
the  consecrated  wafer  from  the  chapel  hi  the  Lateran  and, 
who  knows,  from  how  many  other  churches  in  Rome." 

Hellayne's  eyes  sank  into  those  of  the  other  woman. 

"  No  one  knows  better  than  yourself,  Lady  Theodora,  how 
utterly  false  and  infamous  this  accusation  is.  Tristan  is  a 
devout  son  of  the  Church.  His  whole  life  bears  testimony 
thereof." 


FROM  DREAM  TO  DREAM   399 

"  If  the  Consistory  pronounce  him  guilty,  who  will  believe 
him  innocent?  "  came  the  mocking  reply. 

"His  God — his  conscience  —  and  I,"  Hellayne  replied 
quietly. 

"Will  that  save  his  life — which  is  forfeit?"  Theodora 
interposed. 

"  Where  is  he?    Oh,  where  is  he?  " 

For  a  moment  Hellayne  gave  way  to  her  emotions. 

"He  lies  in  the  vaults  of  Castel  San  Angelo,"  Theodora 
replied,  "  awaiting  his  doom." 

"  Oh,  God !  Oh,  God !  "  Hellayne  moaned,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  sobbing  convulsively. 

"His  rescue  —  though  difficult  of  achievement— lies  with 
you,"  Theodora  said,  veiling  her  inmost  feelings.  She  was 
staking  all  on  the  last  throw. 

"  With  me?  "  Hellayne  turned  to  her  piteously. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  Theodora  interposed,  placing  her  white 
hands  on  Hellayne's  shoulders.  "  The  Consistory  has 
spoken — "  she  lied  —  "and  no  power  on  earth  can  save 
your  lover  from  his  doom  save — myself!" 

"How  may  that  be?" 

"I  know  the  ways  of  the  Emperor's  Tomb.  Its  denizens 
obey  me !  If  you  love  him  as  I  do  you  will  bring  the  sacrifice 
and  save  his  life." 

"Oh,  save  him  if  you  can,  Lady  Theodora,"  Hellayne 
prayed,  her  hands  closing  round  Theodora's  wrists.  "  Save 
him  —  save  him." 

"  I  shall,  if  you  will  do  this  thing,  I  ask,"  Theodora  replied, 
sulking  her  dark  orbs  into  the  blue  depths  of  Hellayne's. 

"What  am  I  to  do?" 

"It  is  easy.  Here  are  stylus  and  tablet.  Write  to  the 
Lord  Basil  to  meet  you  at  the  Groves  of  Theodora.  A  hint 
of  love,  passion,  promise — fulfillment  of  his  desires  —  then 
give  it  to  me.  It  shall  save  your  lover." 

For  a  moment  Hellayne  stared  wild-eyed  at  the  woman. 


400  UNDER  THEWITCHES'MOON 

It  was  as  if  she  had  heard  a  voice,  the  meaning  of  which  she 
no  longer  understood. 

Then,  in  her  unimpassioned  voice,  she  turned  to  Theodora. 

"  Only  the  fiend  himself  and  Theodora  could  ask  as  much !" 

The  blood  was  coursing  like  a  stream  of  lava  through 
Theodora's  veins. 

Would  Hellayne  but  step  out  of  her  reserve!  Would  she 
but  abandon  her  icy  calm ! 

"Then  you  refuse?"  she  flashed. 

"  I  defy  you,"  Hellayne  replied.  "  Do  your  worst !  Rather 
would  I  see  nun  dead  than  defiled  by  such  as  you ! " 

"  Would  you,  indeed?  "  Theodora  returned  with  a  deadly 
calm.  "  Nevertheless,  when  first  we  met,  he,  for  the  mere 
asking,  gave  to  me  a  scarf  of  blue  samite,  a  chased  dagger, 
tokens  from  the  woman  he  had  loved." 

Theodora  paused,  to  watch  the  effect  of  the  poison  shaft 
she  had  sped.  She  saw  by  Hellayne's  agonized  expression 
that  it  had  struck  home. 

"  For  the  last  time,  Lady  Hellayne,  do  my  bidding!" 

Hellayne  had  regained  her  self-possession.  With  a 
supreme  effort  she  fought  down  the  pain  in  her  heart. 

"  Never!  "  came  the  firm  reply. 

"  Then  I  shall  take  him  from  you ! " 

"  Deem  you,  I  have  aught  to  fear  from  such  as  you?  " 
Hellayne  said  slowly,  the  blue  fire  of  her  eyes  burning  on  the 
pale  face  of  Theodora.  "  Deem  you,  that  Tristan  would 
defile  his  manhood  with  the  courtesan  queen  of  Rome?  " 

A  gasp,  a  choking  outcry,  and  Theodora's  white  hands 
closed  round  Hellayne's  throat.  Though  their  touch  burnt 
her  like  fire,  Hellayne  did  not  even  raise  her  hands. 

Fearlessly  she  gazed  into  Theodora's  face. 

"  I  am  waiting,"  she  said  with  the  same  passionless  voice, 
but  there  was  something  in  her  eyes  that  gave  the  other 
woman  pause. 

Theodora's  hands  fell  limply  by  her  side.    What  she  read 


FROM  DREAM  TO  DREAM   401 

in  Hellayne's  eyes  had  caused  her,  perchance,  for  the  first 
time,  to  blanch. 

She  clapped  her  hands. 

The  door  opened  and  Persephone  stood  on  the  threshold. 

She  had  listened,  and  not  a  word  of  their  discourse  had 
escaped  her  watchful  ears. 

"  The  Lady  Hellayne  desires  to  return  to  her  chamber," 
Theodora  turned  to  the  Circassian,  and  without  another  word 
Hellayne  followed  her  guide. 

Yet,  as  she  did  so,  her  head  was  turned  towards  Theodora 
and  in  her  eyes  was  an  expression  so  inscrutable  that  Theo 
dora  turned  away  with  a  shudder,  as  the  door  closed  behind 
their  retreating  forms,  leaving  her  alone  with  her  over 
mastering  agony. 


CHAPTER  VII 


A    ROMAN    MEDEA 

T  was  a  moonless  night.  — 

Deep  repose  was  upon  the 
seven  hilled  city.  The  sky  was 
intensely  dark,  but  the  stars 
shone  out  full  and  lustrous. 
Venus  was  almost  setting.  Mars 
glowed  red  and  fiery  towards 
the  zenith;  the  constellations 
seemed  to  stand  out  from  the 
infinite  spaces  behind  them. 
Orion  glittered  like  a  giant  hi  golden  armour;  Cassiopeia 
shone  out  in  her  own  peculiar  radiance  and  the  Pleiades  in 
their  misty  brightness. 

A  litter,  borne  by  four  stalwart  Nubians,  and  preceeded  by 
two  torch  bearers,  slowly  emerged  from  the  gates  of  Theo 
dora's  palace  and  took  the  direction  of  the  gorge  which 
divides  the  Mount  of  Cloisters  from  Mount  Testaccio. 

Owing  to  the  prevailing  darkness  which  made  all  objects, 
moving  and  immobile,  indistinguishable,  the  inmates  of  the 
litter  had  not  drawn  the  curtains,  so  as  to  admit  the  cooling 
night  air.  There  was  a  fixedness  in  Theodora's  look  and  a 
recklessness  in  her  manner  that  showed  anger  and  deter 
mination.  It  struck  Persephone,  who  was  seated  by  her 
side,  with  a  sort  of  terror,  and  for  once  she  did  not  dare  to 
accost  her  mistress  with  her  usual  banter  and  freedom. 

Theodora  had  spent  the  early  hours  of  the  evening  in  a 
half  obscured  room,  whose  sable  hangings  seemed  to  reflect 
the  unrest  of  her  soul.  She  had  forbidden  the  lamps  to  be 


A  ROMAN  MEDEA  403 

lighted,  brooding  alone  in  darkness  and  solitude.  Then  she 
had  summoned  Persephone,  ordered  her  litter-bearers  and 
commanded  them  to  take  her  to  the  house  of  Sidonia,  a 
woman  versed  in  all  manner  of  lore  that  shunned  the  light 
of  day. 

"  It  must  be  done!  It  shall  be  done! "she  muttered,  her 
white  face  tense,  her  white  hands  clenched. 

Suddenly  her  hand  closed  round  Persephone's  wrist. 

"  She  defies  me,  knowing  herself  in  my  power,"  she  said. 
"  We  shall  see  who  shall  conquer." 

"  The  Lady  Hellayne  is  as  fearless  of  death,  as  yourself, 
Lady  Theodora,"  Persephone  replied.  "  Indeed,  she  seemed 
rather  to  desire  it,  for  no  woman  ever  faced  you  with  such 
defiance  as  did  she  when  you  put  before  her  the  fatal  choice.'* 

Theodora's  face  shone  ghostly  in  the  nocturnal  gloom. 

"  We  shall  see!  She  shall  desire  death  a  thousand  fold 
ere  she  quits  the  abode  I  have  assigned  to  her.  God !  Not 
even  Roxana  had  dared  to  say  to  me  what  this  one  did." 

"  Nor  would  her  shafts  have  struck  so  deep  a  wound," 
Persephone  interposed  with  studied  insolence. 

Theodora's  grip  tightened  round  the  girl's  wrist. 

"  You  admire  the  Lady  Hellayne?  "  she  said  softly,  but 
there  was  a  gleam  in  her  eyes  like  liquid  fire. 

"As  one  brave  woman  admires  another!"  Persephone 
replied  fearlessly,  turning  her  beautiful  face  to  the  speaker. 

"  You  may  require  all  your  courage  some  day  to  face 
another  task,"  Theodora  replied.  "  Beware,  lest  you  tempt 
me  to  do  what  I  might  regret." 

Persephone  turned  white.  Her  bosom  heaved.  Her  eyes 
met  Theodora's. 

"  I  shall  welcome  the  ordeal  with  all  my  heart!  " 

Theodora  relapsed  into  silence,  oppressed  by  dark  thoughts, 
the  memory  of  unresisted  temptations,  a  chaotic  world  where 
black  unscalable  rocks,  like  circles  of  the  Inferno,  hemmed 
her  hi  on  every  side,  while  devils  whispered  into  her  ears 


404  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

the  words  that  gave  shape  and  substance  to  her  desire  to 
destroy  her  rival  in  the  love  of  the  one  man  whom,  in  all  her 
changeable  life,  she  had  truly  desired. 

"  Deem  you,  that  I  have  aught  to  fear  from  such  as  you? 
Deem  you,  that  Tristan  would  defile  his  manhood  with  the 
courtesan  queen  of  Rome?  " 

The  words  still  boomed  in  her  ears,  the  words  and  the 
tone  in  which  they  had  been  hurled  in  her  face. 

Even  to  this  moment  she  knew  not  what  restrained  her 
from  strangling  Hellayne.  It  seemed  to  her  that  only  in  a 
physical  encounter  could  she  quench  the  hatred  she  bore  this 
white,  beautiful  statue  who  never  raised  her  voice  while  the 
fire  of  her  blue  eyes  seared  her  very  soul. 

A  thousand  frightful  forms  of  evil,  stalking  shapes  of  death, 
came  and  went  before  her  imagination,  which  caused  her  to 
clutch  first  at  one,  then  at  another  of  the  dire  suggestions 
that  came  in  crowds  which  overwhelmed  her  powers  of 
choice.  Then,  like  an  inspiration  from  the  very  depths  of 
Hell,  a  thought  flashed  into  her  mind,  and,  no  sooner  con 
ceived,  than  she  determined  upon  its  execution. 

The  laboratory  of  the  woman  whom  Theodora  was  seeking 
on  this  night  was  in  an  old  house  midway  in  the  gorge.  Iii 
a  deep  hollow,  almost  out  of  sight,  stood  a  square  structure 
of  stone,  gloomy  and  forbidding,  with  narrow  windows  and 
an  uninviting  door.  Tall  pines  shadowed  it  on  one  side,  a 
small  rivulet  twisted  itself,  like  a  live  snake,  half  round  it  on 
the  other.  A  plot  of  green  grass,  ill-kept  and  teeming  with 
noxious  weeds,  fennel,  thistle  and  foul  stramonium,  was 
surrounded  by  a  rough  wall  of  loose  stone;  and  here  lived 
the  woman  who  supplied  all  those  who  desired  her  wares, 
and  plied  her  nocturnal  trade. 

Sidonia  was  tall  and  straight,  of  uncertain  age,  though  she 
might  have  been  reckoned  at  forty.  The  whiteness  of  her 
skin  was  enhanced  by  her  blue  black  hair  and  lustrous  black 
eyes.  Far  from  forbidding,  she  exercised  a  sinister  charm 


A  ROMAN  MEDEA  405 

upon  those  who  called  upon  her,  and  who  vainly  tried  to 
reconcile  her  trade  with  the  traces  of  a  great  beauty.  Yet 
her  thin,  cruel  lips  never  smiled,  unless  she  had  an  object 
to  gain  by  assuming  a  disguise  as  foreign  to  her  as  light  is 
to  an  angel  of  darkness. 

Hardly  any  known  poison  there  was,  which  was  not  obtain 
able  at  her  hands.  In  a  sombre  chest,  carved  with  fantastic 
figures  from  Etruscan  designs, <  were  concealed  the  subtle 
drugs,  cabalistical  formulas  and  alchemic  preparations  which 
were  so  greatly  in  demand  during  those  years  of  darkness. 

In  the  most  secret  place  of  all  were  deposited,  ready  for 
use,  a  few  phials  of  a  crystal  liquid,  every  single  drop  of 
which  contained  the  life  of  a  man,  and  which,  administered 
in  due  proportion  of  time  and  measure,  killed  and  left  no 
trace. 

Here  was  the  sublimated  dust  of  the  deadly  night-shade 
which  kindles  the  red  fires  of  fever  and  rots  the  roots  of  the 
tongue.  Here  was  the  fetid  powder  of  stramonium  that 
grips  the  lungs  like  an  asthma,  and  quinia  that  shakes  its 
victims  like  the  cold  hand  of  the  miasma  in  the  Pontine 
Marshes.  The  essence  of  poppies,  ten  tunes  sublimated,  a 
few  grains  of  which  bring  on  the  stupor  of  apoplexy,  and  the 
sardonic  plant  that  kills  its  victims  with  the  frightful  laughter 
of  madness  upon  their  countenance,  were  here.  The  knowl 
edge  of  these  and  many  other  cursed  herbs,  once  known  to 
Medea  in  the  Colchian  land,  and  transplanted  to  Greece 
and  Rome  with  the  enchantments  of  their  use,  had  been 
handed  down  by  a  long  succession  of  sorcerers  and  poisoners 
to  the  woman,  who  seemed  endowed  by  nature  as  the  legit 
imate  inheritrix  of  this  lore  of  Hell. 

At  last  the  litter  of  Theodora  was  set  down  by  its  swarthy 
bearers  before  the  threshold  of  Sidonia's  house.  Theodora 
alighted  and,  after  commanding  the  Africans  to  await  her 
return,  ascended  the  narrow  stone  steps  alone  and  knocked 
at  the  door.  After  a  brief  wait,  shuffling  steps  were  heard 


406   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

from  within,  and  a  bent,  lynx-eyed  individual  of  Oriental 
origin  opened  the  door,  inviting  the  visitor  to  enter.  She 
was  ushered  into  a  dusky  hallway,  in  which  brooded  strange 
odors,  thence  into  a  dimly  lighted  room,  the  laboratory  of 
Sidonia. 

Hardly  had  she  seated  herself  when  the  woman  entered 
and  stood  face  to  face  with  Theodora. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  women  instantly  met  in  a  searching 
glance  that  took  hi  the  whole  ensemble,  bearing,  dress  and 
almost  the  very  thoughts  of  each  other.  In  that  one  glance 
each  knew  and  understood;  each  knew  that  she  could  trust 
the  other,  in  evil,  if  not  in  good. 

And  there  was  trust  between  them.  The  evil  spirits  that 
possessed  their  hearts  clasped  hands,  and  a  silent  league  was 
formed  in  their  souls  ere  a  word  had  been  spoken. 

Sidonia  wore  a  long,  purple  robe,  totally  unadorned.  The 
sleeves  were  wide,  and  revealed  her  white,  bare  arms.  Her 
finely  cut  features  were  crossed  with  thin  lines  of  cruelty 
and  cunning.  No  mercy  was  in  her  eyes,  still  less  on  her 
lips,  and  none  in  her  heart,  cold  to  every  human  feeling. 

"  The  Lady  Theodora  is  fair  to  look  upon,"  Sidonia  broke 
the  silence.  "  All  women  admit  it;  all  men  confess  it."  And 
her  gaze  swept  the  other  woman,  who  was  clad  in  an  ample 
black  mantle  which  ended  in  a  hood. 

"  Can  you  guess,  why  I  am  here? "  Theodora  replied. 
"  You  are  wise  and  know  a  woman's  desire  better  than  she 
dares  avow." 

"  Can  I  guess? "  replied  Sidonia,  returning  Theodora's 
scrutiny.  "  You  have  many  lovers,  Lady  Theodora,  but 
there  is  one  who  does  not  return  your  passion.  And,  you 
have  a  rival.  A  woman,  more  potent  than  yourself,  has, 
notwithstanding  your  beauty,  entangled  the  man  you  love, 
and  you  are  here  to  win  him  back  and  to  triumph  over  your 
rival.  Is  it  not  so,  Lady  Theodora?  " 

"  More  than  that,"  replied  the  other,  clenching  her  white 


A  ROMAN  MEDEA  407 

hands  and  gazing  into  the  eyes  that  met  her  own  with  a  look 
of  merciless  triumph  at  what  she  saw  reflected  therein. 
"  It  is  all  that  —  and  more  —  " 

Sidonia  met  her  eager  gaze. 

"  You  would  kill  your  rival ! "  she  said  with  a  smile  upon 
her  lips.  "  There  is  death  in  your  eyes  —  in  your  voice  — 
in  your  heart!  You  would  kill  the  woman.  It  is  good  in 
the  eyes  of  a  woman  to  kill  her  rival  —  and  women  like  you 
are  rare !  " 

"  Your  reward  shall  be  great,"  Theodora  said  with  an 
inquisitive  glance  at  the  woman  who  had  read  her  inmost 
thoughts. 

"  To  kill  woman  <or  man  were  a  pleasure  even  without  the 
profit,"  replied  Sidonia,  darkly.  "  I  come  from  a  race, 
ancient  and  terrible  as  the  Caesars,  and  I  hate  the  puny 
rabble.  I  have  my  own  joy  in  making  my  hand  felt  in  a 
world  I  hate  and  which  hates  me !  " 

She  held  out  her  hands,  as  if  the  ends  of  her  fingers  were 
trickling  poison. 

"  Death  drops  on  whomsoever  I  send  it,"  she  continued, 
"  subtly,  secretly.  The  very  spirits  of  air  cannot  trace 
whence  it  comes." 

"  I  know  you  are  the  possessor  of  terrible  secrets,"  Theo 
dora  replied,  fascinated  beyond  all  her  experiences  with  the 
woman  and  her  trade. 

"  Such  secrets  never  die,"  said  the  poisoner.  "  Few  men, 
still  fewer  women,  are  there  who  would  not  listen  at  the 
door  of  Hell  to  learn  them.  Let  me  see  your  hand !  " 

Theodora  complied  with  her  abrupt  demand  and  laid  her 
beautiful  white  hand  into  the  no  less  beautiful  one  of  the 
woman  before  her. 

Her  touch,  though  the  hand  was  cool,  seemed  to  burn, 
but  Theodora's  touch  affected  the  other  woman  likewise 
for  she  said : 

"  There  is  evil  enough  in  the  palm  of  your  hand  to  destroy 


408  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

the  world!  We  are  well  met,  you  and  I.  You  are  worthy 
of  my  confidence.  These  fingers  would  pick  the  fruit  off 
the  forbidden  tree,  for  men  to  eat  and  die!  Lady  Theodora 
—  I  may  some  day  teach  you  the  great  secret  —  meanwhile 
I  will  show  you  that  I  possess  it !  " 

With  these  words  she  walked  to  the  chest,  took  from  it 
an  ebony  casket  and  laid  it  upon  the  table. 

"  There  is  death  enough  in  this  casket,"  she  said,  "  to 
kill  every  man  and  woman  in  Rome !  " 

Theodora  fastened  her  gaze  upon  it,  as  if  she  would  have 
drawn  out  the  secret  of  its  contents  by  the  very  magnetism 
of  her  eyes.  For, even  while  Sidonia  was  speaking, a  thought 
flashed  through  her  visitor's  mind  —  a  thought  which  almost 
made  her  forget  the  purpose  on  which  she  had  come.  She 
laid  her  hands  upon  it  caressingly,  trembling,  eager  to  see 
its  contents. 

"  Open  it!  "  said  Sidonia.     "  Touch  the  spring  and  look!  " 

Theodora  touched  the  little  spring.  The  lid  flew  back  and 
there  flashed  from  it  a  light  which  for  a  moment  dazzled  her 
by  its  very  brilliancy.  She  thrust  the  cabinet  from  her  in 
alarm,  imagining  she  inhaled  the  odor  of  some  deadly  per 
fume. 

"  Its  glitter  terrifies  me !  "  she  said.    "  Its  odor  sickens." 

"  Your  conscience  frightens  you,"  sneered  Sidonia. 

Theodora  rose  to  her  feet,  her  face  pale,  her  eyes  alight 
with  a  strange  fire. 

"  This  to  me?  "  she  flashed. 

For  a  moment  the  two  women  faced  each  other  in  a  white 
silence. 

A  strange  smile  played  upon  Sidonia's  lips. 

"  The  Aqua  Tofana  in  the  hands  of  a  coward  is  a  gift  as 
fatal  to  its  possessor  as  to  its  victim!  " 

"  You  are  brave  to  speak  such  words  to  Theodora !  " 

Sidonia  gave  her  an  inscrutable  glance. 

"  Why  should  I  fear  you?    Even  without  these,  —  woman 


A  ROMAN  MEDEA  409 

to  woman,"  she  replied,  as  she  drew  the  casket  to  herself 
and  took  out  a  phial,  gilt  and  chased  with  strange  symbols. 

Sidonia  took  it  up  and  immediately  the  liquid  was  filled 
with  a  million  sparks  of  fire.  It  was  the  Aqua  Tofana, 
undiluted,  instantaneous  in  its  effect,  and  not  medicable  by 
antidotes.  Once  administered  there  was  no  more  hope  for 
its  victim  than  for  the  souls  of  the  damned  who  have  received 
the  final  judgment.  One  drop  of  .the  sparkling  water  upon 
the  tongue  of  a  Titan  would  blast  him  like  Jove's  thunder 
bolt,  shrivel  him  up  to  a  black,  unsightly  cinder. 

This  terrible  water  was  rarely  used  alone  by  the  poisoners, 
but  it  formed  the  basis  of  a  hundred  slower  potions  which 
ambition,  fear  or  hypocrisy,  mingled  with  the  element  of 
time,  and  colored  with  the  various  hues  and  aspects  of  natural 
disease. 

Theodora  had  again  taken  her  seat  and  leaned  towards 
Sidonia,  supporting  her  chin  in  the  palm  of  her  hands,  as 
she  bent  eagerly  over  the  table,  drinking  in  every  word  as 
the  hot  sand  of  the  desert  drinks  in  the  water  that  falls  upon 
it. 

"  What  is  that?  "  she  pointed  to  a  phial,  white  as  milk  and 
seemingly  harmless,  and  while  she  questioned,  her  busy 
brain  worked  with  feverish  activity.  The  Aqua  Tofana  she 
had  used  when  she  struck  down  Roxana  and  her  too  talkative 
lover  on  the  night  of  the  feast  in  her  garden.  But  now  she 
required  a  different  concoction  to  complete  the  vengeance 
on  her  rival. 

"  This  is  called  Lac  Misericordiae,"  replied  Sidonia.  "  It 
brings  on  painless  consumption  and  decay!  It  eats  the  life 
out  of  man  or  woman,  while  the  moon  empties  and  fills.  The 
strong  man  becomes  a  skeleton.  Blooming  maidens  sink  to 
their  graves  blighted  and  bloodless.  Neither  saint  or  sacra 
ment  can  arrest  its  doom.  This  phial "  —  and  she  took 
another  from  the  cabinet,  replacing  the  first  — "  contains 
innumerable  griefs  that  wait  upon  the  pillows  of  rejected 


410   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

and  heartbroken  lovers,  and  the  wisest  mediciner  is  mocked 
by  the  lying  appearances  of  disease  that  defy  his  skill  and 
make  a  mock  of  his  wisdom." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.    At  last  Theodora  spoke. 

"  Have  you  nothing  that  will  cause  fear  —  dread  —  mad 
ness  —  ere  it  strikes  the  victim  dumb  forever  more?    Some 
thing  that  produces  in  the  brain  those  dreadful  visions  - 
horrid  shapes  —  peopling  its  chambers   where  reason  once 
held  sway?  " 

For  a  moment  Sidonia  and  Theodora  held  each  other's 
gaze,  as  if  each  were  wondering  at  the  wickedness  of  the 
other. 

"  This,"  Sidonia  said  at  last,  taking  out  a  curiously  twisted 
bottle,  containing  a  clear  crimson  liquid  and  sealed  with  the 
mystic  Pentagon,  "  contains  the  quintessence  of  mandrakes, 
distilled  in  the  alembic,  when  Scorpio  rules  the  hour.  It 
will  produce  what  you  desire." 

"  How  much  of  it  is  required  to  do  this  thing?  " 

"  Three  drops.  Within  six  hours  the  unfailing  result  will 
appear." 

"  Give  it  to  me !  " 

"  You  possess  rare  ingenuity,  Lady  Theodora,"  said 
Sidonia,  placing  her  hand  in  that  of  her  caller.  "  If  Satan 
prompts  you  not,  it  is  because  he  can  teach  you  nothing, 
either  in  love  or  stratagem." 

She  shut  up  her  infernal  casket,  leaving  the  phial  of  dis 
tilled  mandrakes,  shining  like  a  ruby  in  the  lamp  light,  upon 
the  table.  By  its  side  lay  a  bag  of  gold. 

Theodora  arose.  The  eyes  of  the  two  women  flashed  in 
lurid  sympathy  as  they  parted,  and  Sidonia  accompanied  her 
visitor  to  the  door. 

As  she  did  so  a  heavy  curtain  in  the  background  parted 
and  the  white  face  of  Basil  peered  into  the  empty  room. 

After  a  brief  interval  Sidonia  returned. 

Her  face   had   again   assumed   its  forbidding   aspect   as, 


A  ROMAN  MEDEA  411 

removing  the  phials  and  seemingly  addressing  no  one,  she 
said: 

"  We  are  alone  now !  " 

At  the  next  moment  Basil  stood  in  the  chamber.  His  eyes 
burned  with  a  feverish  lustre,  and  there  was  a  horror  in  his 
countenance  which  he  strove  in  vain  to  conceal. 

"  This  must  not  be,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  Why  did  you 
give  her  this  devil's  brew?  " 

And  staggering  up  to  the  table  he  gripped  the  soft  white 
wrist  of  the  woman  with  fingers  of  steel. 

Sidonia's  eyes  narrowed  as  she  gazed  into  those  of  the  man. 

"  Do  you  love  that  one,  too?  "  she  said,  wrenching  herself 
free.  "  Or  have  you  lied  to  her  as  you  have  lied  to  me?  " 

"  Your  voice  sounds  like  the  cry  from  a  dark  gallery  that 
leads  to  Hell,"  Basil  replied.  "You,  alone,  have  I  loved  all 
these  years,  and  for  your  fell  beauty  have  I  risked  all  I  have 
done  and  am  about  to  do !  " 

"  Fear  speaks  in  your  voice,"  Sidonia  replied  with  a  cruel 
smile  upon  her  lips.  "  You  are  in  my  power,  else  had  you 
long  ago  consigned  me  to  a  place  whence  there  is  no  return. 
With  me  the  secret  of  another's  death  would  go  to  the  grave." 

"  Nay,  you  do  not  understand ! "  Basil  interposed.  "  The 
woman  who  has  aroused  Theodora's  maddened  jealousy  is 
nothing  to  me.  But  I  have  other  plans  concerning  her  — 
she  must  be  saved !  " 

"  Other  plans? "  replied  Sidonia  darkly.  "  What  other 
plans?  What  sort  of  woman  is  she  who  can  arouse  the 
jealousy  of  Theodora?  " 

"  White  and  cold  as  the  snows  of  the  North." 

"  A  stranger  in  Rome?  " 

"The  wife  of  one  whose  days  are  numbered,  if  I  rightly 
read  the  oracle." 

"  What  is  this  plan?  "  Sidonia  insisted. 

"  She  is  to  be  delivered  to  Hassan  Abdullah,  as  reward 
for  his  aid  in  the  great  stroke  that  is  about  to  fall." 


412  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

In  the  distance  whimpered  a  bell, 

"  And,  when  the  hour  tolls  —  the  hour  of  which  you  have 
so  often  prated  —  when  you  sit  hi  the  high  seat  of  the  Senator 
of  Rome  —  where  then  will  I  be,  who  have  watched  your 
power  grow  and  have  aided  it  in  its  upward  flight?  " 

Basil's  face  lighted  up  with  the  fires  within. 

"  Where  else  but  by  my  side?  Who  dares  defy  us  and 
the  realms  of  the  Underworld?  " 

u  Who,  indeed?  "  Sidonia  replied  with  a  dark,  inscrutable 
glance  into  Basil's  face.  "  Perchance  I  should  not  love  you 
as  I  do  were  you  not  as  evil  as  you  are  good  to  look  upon! 
I  love  you,  even  though  I  know  your  lying  lips  have  professed 
love  to  many  others,  even  though  I  know  that  Theodora  has 
kindled  in  you  all  the  evil  passions  of  your  soul.  Beware 
how  you  play  with  me  I " 

She  threw  back  her  wide  sleeves  and  two  dazzling  white 
arms  encircled  Basil's  neck. 

"  Await  me  yonder,"  she  then  turned  to  her  visitor,  point 
ing  to  a  chamber  situated  beyond  the  curtain.  "  We  will 
talk  this  matter  over ! " 

Basil  retired  and  Sidonia  busied  herself,  replacing  the 
different  phials  in  the  ebony  chest. 

After  having  assured  herself  that  everything  was  in  its 
place,  she  picked  up  the  lamp  and  disappeared  behind  the 
curtain  in  the  background. 

Deep  midnight  silence  reigned  in  the  gorge  of  Mount 
Aventine. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


IN    TENEBRIS 

NOTHER  day  had  gone  down 
the  never  returning  tide  of 
time.  The  sun  was  sinking 
in  a  rosy  bed  of  quilted  clouds. 
All  day  long  Hellayne  had  sat 
brooding  in  her  chamber,  unable 
to  shake  off  the  lethargy  of 
despair  that  bound  and  be 
numbed  her  limbs,  rousing  her 
self  at  long  intervals  just  suffi- 
ceintly  to  wring  her  hands  for  very  anguish,  without  even  the 
faintest  ray  of  hope  to  pierce  the  black  night  of  her  misery. 

Just  as  a  white  border  of  light  had  been  visible  on  the  edge 
of  the  dark  cloud  that  hung  over  her,  just  as  she  had  refound 
the  man  whose  love  was  the  very  breath  of  her  existence,  her 
evil  star  had  again  flamed  in  the  ascendant  and,  losing  him 
anew,  she  had  utterly  lost  herself.  She  struggled  with  her 
thoughts,  as  a  drowning  man  amid  tossing  waves,  groping 
about  in  the  dark  for  a  plank  to  float  upon,  when  all  else  has 
sunk  in  the  seas  around  him. 

She  had  hardly  touched  the  food  which  Persephone  herself 
had  brought  to  her.  Yet  it  seemed  to  her  the  Circassian  had 
regarded  her  strangely,  as  she  placed  the  viands  before  her. 
She  had  tried  to  frame  a  question,  but  her  lips  seemed  to 
refuse  the  utterance,  and  at  last  Persephone  had  departed, 
with  the  mocking  promise  to  return  later,  to  inquire  how  the 
Lady  Hellayne  had  spent  the  day. 


414  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Now  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  a  poison  breath  of  evil  was 
slowly  permeating  the  narrow  confines  of  her  chamber. 
Something  she  had  never  before  experienced  was  floating 
before  her  vision,  was  creeping  into  her  brain,  was  booming 
in  her  ears,  was  turning  her  blood  to  ice. 

Was  it  the  voiceless  echo  of  an  ill-omened  incantation, 
handed  down  through  generations  of  poisoners  and  witches 
from  the  time  of  pagan  Rome? 


"Hecaten  voco, 
Voco  Tisiphonem, 

Spargens  avernales  aquas, 
Te  morti  devoveo;  te  diris  ago." 


Was  she  going  mad? 

Hellayne's  hands  went  to  her  forehead. 

"  I  think  I  am  sane,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  at  least  —  as 
yet." 

Would  Heaven  not  come  to  her  aid?  She  was  but  a  weak 
woman  who  in  vain  —  too  often  in  vain  —  had  tried  to 
snatch  a  few  moments  of  happiness  from  life.  Ah!  If 
Death  knew  what  a  service  he  would  render  her!  But  no! 
She  would  brace  her  heart  strings  more  than  ever.  She 
would  renew  her  fight  with  dusk  and  madness.  She  would 
face  and  challenge  each  mad  phantom  —  make  it  speak  — 
reveal  itself,  —  or  she  would  break  the  silence  of  that  mon 
strous  place  at  least  with  her  own  voice.  Though  flesh  was 
weak  she  would  be  strong  to-night  —  but  —  ah  God  I  here 
they  came  trooping  out  of  the  night. 

She  cowered  back,  shuddering,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
dusky  depths  of  the  chamber. 

It  was  the  blue  one  —  the  one  whose  limbs  and  cheeks 
seemed  made  of  pale  blue  ice.  She  felt  her  limbs  growing 
numb.  But  she  would  bar  its  way. 

The  finger  of  the  freezing  shape  was  on  its  lip.     Did  it 


IN  TENEBRIS  415 

mean  that  it  was  dumb?  Well,  then,  let  it  speak  by  signs. 
The  dim  blue  rays  that  draped  its  silence  quaked  like  aspens. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  she  forced  herself  to  speak.  "  Are  you 
Hate?  You  shake  your  head?  Are  you  Despair?  No?  Not 
that?  Then  you  must  be  Fear !  " 

The  figure  nodded  with  a  horrible  grin. 

"  Fear  of  what?  " 

The  phantom  passed  its  finger  slowly  across  its  throat. 

She  held  on  to  the  panelling  to  keep  from  falling.  Her 
woman's  strength  had  bounds.  But  she  recovered  herself 
and  forced  herself  to  speak. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "it  is  this  she  contemplates?  How  soon? 
I  needs  must  know.  How  many  twilights  have  I  still  to  live, 
before  they  sink  my  body  in  yonder  lotus  pond?  " 

The  phantom  held  up  three  fingers. 

"  Only  three,"  Hellayne  babbled  like  a  child,  talking  to 
herself.  "Well — pass  upon  your  way,  phantom.  —  You 
have  given  me  all  you  had  to  give  —  three  dusks  to  rise  to 
Heaven." 

She  raised  her  eyes  in  prayer  and  a  strange  rapture  came 
into  her  face.  But  it  vanished  suddenly  —  and  once  more 
she  stared,  shuddering,  into  the  gloom. 

For  craze  and  hell  still  prevailed. 

Look,  there  it  came ! 

What  new  and  monstrous  phantom  was  swaying  and 
groping  towards  her  ?  A  headless  monk !  —  The  air  grew 
black  with  horror.  Horror  shrivelled  her  skin,  was  raising 
the  roots  of  her  hair. 

It  was  for  her  he  was  groping.  Her  wits  were  beginning 
to  leave  her.  She  had  to  move  this  way  and  that  to  avoid 
him.  She  felt,  if  he  only  touched  her,  madness  would  win 
the  day.  And  he  groped  and  groped,  and  she  seemed  to 
feel  him  near  to  her. 

"Away!  Away!"  she  shrieked.  But  she  was  wasting 
her  breath.  He  had  neither  eyes  to  see  nor  ears  to  hear. 


416  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

And  he  groped  and  groped,  as  if  he  felt  her  already  under 
his  vague,  white  hands. 

"  Help  —  God !  "  she  shrieked. 

Nature  could  not  cope  with  such  shapes  as  these ! 

And  Hellayne  fell  forward  in  a  swoon. 

It  was  late  in  the  night  when  she  regained  consciousness. 
She  opened  her  eyes.  The  shapes  of  dusk  had  gone.  She 
was  alone  —  alone  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  chamber.  Every 
thing  was  still  in  the  long  dusky  gallery  beyond.  Perhaps 
it  was  all  over  for  the  night,  and  yet  —  what  was  there  upon 
the  threshold? 

"Oh,  my  God!  my  God!"  she  cried.    "Let  me  die  - 
only  not  this  horror! " 

There  the  phantom  stood.  Its  scarlet  mantle  glimmered 
almost  black.  She  dared  not  turn  her  back.  She  dared 
not  shut  her  eyes.  He  made  neither  sign,  nor  beck,  nor 
nod.  But,  like  a  crazy  shadow,  he  circled  round  and  round 
her,  soundlessly,  as  if  he  were  treading  on  velvet. 

"  Keep  off  —  keep  off !  "  she  shrieked.  "  Protect  me,  oh 
my  God !  Madness  is  closing  in  upon  me !  " 

And  with  a  sudden,  desperate  movement  she  rushed  at 
the  phantom  to  tear  the  crimson  mask  from  its  face. 

Her  arms  penetrated  empty  air. 

With  a  moan  she  sank  upon  the  floor.  Her  arms  spread 
out,  she  lay  upon  her  face. 

The  swoon  held  her  captive  once  more. 

But  the  dream  was  kinder  to  Hellayne  than  life. 

She  stood  upon  a  rocky  promontory  in  her  own  far-off 
land  of  Provence. 

Before  her  spread  the  peace  of  the  wide,  glimmering  sea. 

What  are  these  golden  columns  through  which  the  water 
glistens? 

A  man  stood  within  the  rums  of  a  great  temple,  the  sea 
before  him,  violet  hills  behind.  From  the  summit  of  an 


IN  TENEBRIS  417 

island  mountain  in  the  bay  the  lilt  of  a  tender  song  was  drifting 
upwards. 

And,  as  he  sang,  the  great  sea  stirred.  It  heaved,  it 
writhed,  it  rose.  With  onward  movement,  as  of  a  coiling 
serpent,  the  whole  vast  liquid  brilliance  rushed  upon  the 
temple.  Mighty  billows  of  beryl  curved  and  broke  in  sheets 
of  white  foam. 

"  Fear  nothing,"  said  the  man.  "  Your  river  has  found  the 
seal" 

It  was  Tristan's  voice. 

From  the  distance  came  the  faint  tolling  of  a  bell,  forlorn, 
as  from  a  forest  chapel,  infinitely  sweet  and  tremulous.  In 
a  faint  light,  like  a  mountain  mist  at  dawn,  the  whole  scene 
faded  away,  and  Hellayne  was  in  a  garden  —  a  rose  garden. 
She  had  been  there  before,  but  how  different  it  all  was.  She 
was  being  smothered  in  roses.  Flame  roses  every  one  - 
curled  into  fiery  petal  whorls,  dancing  in  the  garden  dusk 
under  a  red,  red  sky. 

Ah!  There  it  is  again,  the  terrible  face,  leering  from 
among  the  branches,  the  face  that  froze  the  blood  in  her 
veins,  that  made  her  heart  turn  cold  as  ice  and  filled  her 
soul  with  horror. 

It  is  the  Count  Laval.  He  is  seeking  her,  seeking  her 
everywhere.  Horns  are  peering  out  from  under  his  scarlet 
cap,  and  he  has  long  claws 

Now  she  is  fleeing  through  the  rose  garden,  faster,  faster, 
ever  faster.  But  he  is  gaining  upon  her.  From  bosquet  to 
bosquet,  from  thicket  to  thicket;  she  hears  his  approaching 
steps.  Now  she  can  almost  feel  his  breath  upon  her  neck. 

At  last  he  has  overtaken  her. 

Now  he  is  circling  round  her,  nearer  and  nearer,  extending 
his  hands  towards  her,  while  she  follows  his  movement  with 
horror-stricken  eyes. 

But  her  strength,  her  body,  are  paralyzed. 

As  his  hands  close  round  her  throat,  his  eyes  gloating  with 


418  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

dull  malice,  she  covers  her  face  with  her  hands  and  falls 
with  a  shriek. 

And  as  she  lies  there  before  him,  dead,  he  looks  down 
upon  her  with  a  strange  smile  upon  his  lips  and  casts  his 
scarlet  mantle  over  her. 

Once  more  Hellayne  is  in  the  throes  of  a  swoon. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE    CONSPIRACY 

T  was  a  night,  moonless  and 
starless.  Deep  silence  brooded 
over  the  city.  Not  a  ray  of 
light  was  in  the  sky.  A  dense 
fog  hung  like  a  funeral  pall 
over  the  Seven  Hills,  and  a 
ceaseless,  changeless  drizzle 
was  sinking  from  the  heavy 
clouds  whose  contours  were 
indistinguishable  in  the  noc 
turnal  gloom.  The  Tiber  hardly  moaned  within  his  banks. 
The  city  fires  hissed  and  smouldered  away  under  the  descend 
ing  rain,  soon  to  be  extinguished  altogether. 

It  was  about  the  second  watch  of  the  night  when  two  men, 
wrapped  in  dark  mantles  that  covered  them  from  head  to 
foot,  quitted  the  monastery  of  San  Lorenzo  and  were  imme 
diately  swallowed  up  by  the  darkness. 

The  night  by  this  time  was  more  dismal  than  ever.  The 
wind  began  to  rise,  and  its  fitful  gusts  howled  round  the 
stern  old  walls  of  the  monastery,  or  rustled  in  the  laurels 
and  cypresses  by  which  it  was  surrounded.  The  great  gates 
were  shut  and  barred.  Hardly  a  light  was  to  be  seen  along 
the  entire  range  of  buildings. 

Suddenly  a  postern  gate  opened,  and  what  appeared  to  be 
a  monk,  drawing  his  black  cowl  completely  over  his  head, 
came  forth  and  hurried  along  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 
Tristan  and  his  companion,  emerging  from  their  hiding- 


420  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

place,  followed  at  the  farthest  possible  distance  which 
allowed  them  to  retain  sight  of  their  quarry.  Through  a 
succession  of  the  worst  and  narrowest  by-lanes  of  the  city 
they  tracked  him,  to  the  Tiber's  edge. 

Here,  dark  as  it  was,  a  boat  was  ready  for  launching. 
Five  or  six  persons  were  standing  by,  who  seemed  to  recog 
nize  and  address  the  monk.  Keeping  in  the  shadows  of 
the  tall,  ill-favored  houses,  the  twain  contrived  to  approach 
near  enough  to  hear  somewhat  that  was  said. 

"  The  light  over  yonder  has  been  burning  this  half  hour," 
said  one  of  the  men. 

"  I  could  not  come  before,"  said  he  in  the  monk's  habit. 
"  I  was  followed  by  two  men.  I  threw  them  out,  however, 
before  I  reached  the  monastery  of  San  Lorenzo.  But  —  by 
all  the  saints  —  lose  no  more  time !  We  have  lost  too  much, 
as  it  is." 

He  entered  the  boat  as  he  spoke.  It  was  pushed  out  into 
the  water,  and  in  another  moment  the  measured  sound  of 
oars  came  to  their  ears. 

Odo  of  Cluny  turned  to  his  companion. 

"  Tell  me,  did  he  who  spoke  first  and  mentioned  the  light 
yonder  on  St.  Bartholomew's  Island  —  a  light  there  is  yonder, 
sure  enough  —  did  he  resemble,  think  you,  one  we  know?  " 

"  Both  in  voice  and  form,"  replied  Tristan. 

"  My  thoughts  point  the  same  way  as  yours!  " 

"  I  should  know  that  voice  wherever  I  heard  it,"  Tristan 
muttered  under  his  breath.  "  But  what  of  the  light?  " 

Dimly  through  the  mist  the  red  glow  was  discernible. 

"  It  beams  from  the  deserted  monastery,"  Odo  replied 
after  a  pause. 

"  Can  we  put  across?  "  Tristan  queried. 

"  The  question  is  not  so  much  to  find  a  boat  as  a  landing- 
place,  where  we  shall  not  be  seen." 

"  There  is  a  boat  lying  yonder.  If  my  eyes  do  not  deceive 
me,  the  boatman  lies  asleep  on  the  poop." 


THE  CONSPIRACY  421 

"  Know  you  aught  of  the  men  who  rowed  down  the  river?  " 
Odo  turned  to  the  boatman,  after  he  had  aroused  him. 

The  latter  stared  uncomprehendingly  into  the  speaker's 
face. 

"  I  know  of  no  men.  I  fell  asleep  for  want  of  custom. 
It  is  a  God-forsaken  spot," he  added, rubbing  his  eyes.  "Who 
would  want  a  boat  on  a  night  like  this?  " 

"  We  require  even  such  a  commodity,"  Odo  replied. 

The  boatman  returned  a  dull,  unresponsive  glance  and 
did  not  move  from  his  improvised  couch. 

"  Take  your  oars  and  row  us  to  the  Tiber  Island,"  Odo 
said  sternly,  "  unless  you  would  bring  upon  yourself  the 
curse  of  the  Church.  We  have  a  weighty  matter  that  brooks 
no  delay.  And  have  a  care  to  avoid  that  other  boat  which 
has  preceded  yours.  We  must  not  be  seen." 

Something  in  Odo's  voice  seemed  to  compel,  and  soon  they 
were  afloat,  the  boatman  bending  to  his  oars.  They  drifted 
through  the  dense  mist  and  soon  a  dilapidated  flight  of  landing 
stairs  hove  in  sight,  leading  up  to  the  deserted  monastery. 

"  Had  we  chosen  the  usual  landing-place,  we  should  have 
found  two  boats  moored  there  —  I  saw  them  as  we  turned." 
Odo  turned  to  his  companion.  "  Yet  we  dare  not  land  here. 
We  should  be  seen  from  the  shore." 

Directing  their  Charon  to  row  his  craft  higher  up,  Odo 
soon  discovered  the  place  of  which  he  was  in  quest.  It  was 
a  little  cove.  The  rocks  which  bordered  it  were  slippery 
with  seaweed,  and  in  that  misty  obscurity  offered  no  very 
safe  footing. 

Here  the  boat  was  moored,  and  Odo  and  bis  companion 
clambered  slowly,  but  steadily,  over  the  rocks  and,  in  a  few 
moments,  had  made  good  their  landing. 

Having  directed  the  boatman  to  await  their  call  in  the 
shadow  of  the  opposite  bank,  where  he  might  remain  unseen, 
they  continued  to  grope  their  way  upward,  till  they  reached 
the  angles  of  a  wall  which  converged  here,  sheltered  by  a 


422  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

projecting   pent   house.    Voices   were    heard   issuing   from 
within. 

"  We  must  have  ample  security,  my  lord,"  said  a  speaker, 
whose  voice  Odo  recognized  as  the  voice  of  Basil.  "  You 
require  of  us  to  do  everything.  You  exact  ties  and  pledges 
and  hostages,  and  you  offer  nothing." 

"  I  am  desirous  of  sparing,  as  much  as  may  be,  the  blood 
of  my  men,"  replied  the  person  addressed.  "  Rome  must 
be  my  lord's  without  conflict." 

"  That  may  —  or  may  not  be,"  said  the  first  speaker. 
"  But  so  much  you  may  say  to  the  Lord  Ugo.  If  he  expects  to 
reconquer  Rome,  he  will  need  all  the  forces  he  can  summon." 

"  A  wiser  man  than  you  or  I,  my  lord,  has  said :  '  Never 
force  a  foe  to  stand  at  bay,'  "  interposed  a  third.  "  Reject 
our  offers,  and  we,  whom  you  might  have  for  your  friends, 
you  will  have  for  your  most  bitter  and  determined  foes. 
Accept  our  terms,  and  Rome,  together  with  the  Emperor's 
Tomb,  is  yours !  " 

"  What  terms  are  contained  in  this  paper?  "  queried  Ugo's 
emissary. 

"  They  are  not  very  difficult  to  remember! "  returned  the 
Grand  Chamberlain.  "  But  I  might  as  well  repeat  them 
here.  First  —  the  revenues  of  all  the  churches  to  flow  to 
the  Holy  See." 

"  Proceed." 

"  Utmost  security  of  life,  person  and  property  to  those 
who  are  aiding  our  enterprise." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  voice.  "  So  much  I  can  vouch  for, 
my  lord.  Is  that  all?  " 

"All  —  as  far  as  conditions  go,"  returned  the  third 
speaker. 

"  It  is  not  all,  by  St.  Demetrius,"  cried  Basil.  "  I  claim 
the  office  I  am  holding  with  all  its  privileges  and  appurte 
nances,  to  give  no  account  to  any  one  of  the  past  or  the 
future." 


THE  CONSPIRACY  423 

"  What  of  the  present?  "  interposed  the  voice. 

"  You  never  could  imagine  that  I  perilled  my  neck  only 
to  secure  your  lord  in  his  former  possessions,  which  he  so 
cowardly  abandoned,"  said  Basil  contemptuously.  "  I  claim 
the  hand  of  the  Lady  Theodora  —  " 

"  Theodora?  "  cried  the  envoy  of  Ugo  of  Tuscany,  turning 
fiercely  upon  the  speaker.  "  Surely  you  are  mad,  my  lord, 
to  imagine  that  the  Lord  Ugo  \vould  peril  his  reign  with  the 
presence  of  this  woman  within  the  same  walls  that  witnessed 
the  regime  of  her  sister  —  " 

"  Mind  your  own  business,  my  lord,"  interposed  Basil. 
"  What  the  man  thinks  who  fled  from  Castel  San  Angelo  at 
the  first  cry  of  revolt,  the  man  who  slunk  away  like  a  thief 
hi  the  night,  is  nothing  to  me.  We  make  the  conditions. 
It  is  for  him  to  accept  or  reject  them,  as  he  sees  fit." 

A  rasping  voice,  speaking  a  villainous  jargon,  made  itself 
heard  at  this  juncture. 

"  What  of  my  Saracens,  mighty  lord?  "  Hassan  Abdullah, 
for  no  lesser  than  the  great  Mahometan  chieftain  was  the 
speaker,  turned  to  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  "  I,  too,  am 
desirous  of  sparing  the  blood  of  my  soldiers  and,  insofar  as 
lies  within  my  power,  that  of  the  Nazarenes  also.  For  it  is 
written  hi  the  book:  Slavery  for  infidels  —  but  death  only 
for  apostates." 

"  Our  compact  is  sealed  beyond  recall,"  Basil  made  reply. 

"  Then  you  will  deliver  the  woman  into  my  hands?  " 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  She  shall  be  delivered  into  the  hands  of  Hassan  Abdul 
lah  !  And  he  will  sail  away  with  his  white-plumed  bird  — 
the  fairest  flower  of  the  North  —  and  the  ransom  of  a  city." 

"  Yet  I  do  not  know  the  lady's  name,"  said  the  Saracen. 
"  This  I  should  know  —  else  how  may  she  heed  my  call?  " 

"  Those  who  love  her  call  her  Hellayne." 

At  the  name  Tristan  started  so  violently  that  the  monk 
caught  his  arm  in  a  grip  of  steel. 


424  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

"  Silence  —  if  you  value  your  life,"  Odo  enjoined. 

"  When  and  where  is  she  to  be  delivered  into  my  hands?  " 
Hassan  Abdullah  continued. 

"  The  place  will  be  made  known  to  you,  my  lord,"  Basil 
replied,  "  when  the  Emperor's  Tomb  hails  its  new  master." 

"  Here  is  an  infernal  plot,"  Odo  whispered  into  Tristan's 
ear,  "  spawned  up  by  the  very  Prince  of  Darkness." 

"  What  can  we  do? "  came  back  the  almost  soundless 
reply.  "  Hellayne  to  be  delivered  over  to  this  infidel  dog ! 
Nay,  do  not  restrain  me,  Father  —  " 

"  There  are  six  to  two  of  us,"  Odo  interposed.  "  Silence ! 
Some  one  speaks." 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  envoy  of  Ugo  of  Tuscany. 

"  Although  it  seems  like  a  taunt,  to  fling  into  the  face  of 
my  lord  the  sister  of  the  woman  who  was  the  cause  of  his 
defeat  —  " 

"  His  coward  soul  was  the  cause  of  the  Lord  Ugo's  defeat," 
Basil  interposed  hotly.  "  In  the  dark  of  night,  by  means  of 
a  rope  he  let  himself  down  from  his  lair,  to  escape  the  wrath 
of  the  fledgling  he  had  struck  for  an  unintentional  affront. 
Did  the  Lord  Ugo  even  inquire  into  the  fate  of  the  woman 
who  perished  miserably  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Emperor's 
Tomb?  " 

"  Let  us  not  be  hasty,"  interposed  another.  "  The  Lord 
Ugo  will  listen  to  reason." 

"  The  conditions  are  settled,"  Basil  replied.  "  On  the 
third  night  from  to-night !  " 

The  conspirators  rose  and,  emerging  from  the  ruined 
refectory,  made  their  way  down  to  their  boat. 

Soon  the  sound  of  oars,  becoming  fainter  and  fainter, 
informed  the  listeners  that  the  company  had  departed. 

Tristan's  face  was  very  white. 

"  What  is  to  be  done? "  he  turned  pathetically  to  the 
monk  who  stood  brooding  by  his  side.  "  I  almost  wish  I 
had  let  my  fate  overtake  me  —  " 


THE  CONSPIRACY  425 

"  Do  not  blaspheme,"  Odo  interposed.  "  Sometimes 
divine  aid  is  nearest  when  it  seems  farthest  removed.  In 
three  days  the  blow  is  to  fall!  In  three  days  Rome  is  to  be 
turned  over  to  the  infidels  who  are  ravaging  our  southern 
coasts,  and  the  Tuscan  is  once  more  to  hold  sway  in  the 
Tomb  of  the  former  Master  of  the  World.  But  not  he  - 
Basil  will  rule,  for  Ugo  has  his  hands  full  in  Ivrea.  With 
Basil  Theodora  will  lord  it  from  yonder  castello.  He  will 
let  the  Lord  Ugo  burn  his  hands  and  he  will  snatch  the  golden 
fruit.  I  will  pray  th^t  this  feeble  hand  may  undo  their  dark 
plotting." 

"  What  is  Rome  to  me?  What  the  universe?  "  Tristan 
interposed,  "  if  she  whom  I  love  better  than  life  is  lost  to 
me?" 

The  monk  turned  to  him  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  You  have  been  miraculously  delivered  from  the  very 
jaws  of  death.  You  will  save  the  woman  you  love  from 
dishonor  and  shame." 

Odo  pondered  for  a  pace  then  he  continued : 

"  There  is  one  in  Rome  —  who  is  encompassing  your 
destruction.  The  foul  crime  in  the  Lateran  of  which  you 
were  the  victim  is  but  another  proof  of  the  schemes  of  the 
Godless,  who  have  desecrated  the  churches  of  Christ  for 
their  hellish  purposes.  We  must  find  their  devil's  chapel, 
hidden  somewhere  beneath  the  soil  of  Rome.  None  shall 
escape." 

"  How  will  you  bring  this  about,  Father?  "  Tristan  queried 
despairingly. 

"  The  soldiers  of  the  Church  have  not  been  bribed,"  Odo 
replied.  "  Listen,  my  son,  and  do  you  as  I  direct.  On 
to-morrow's  eve  Theodora  gives  one  of  her  splendid  feasts. 
Go  you  disguised.  Watch  —  but  speak  not.  Listen  —  but 
answer  not.  Who  knows  but  that  you  may  receive  tidings 
of  your  lost  one?  As  for  myself,  I  shall  seek  one  whose 
crimes  lie  heavily  upon  him,  one  who  trembles  with  the  fear 


426  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

of  death,  at  whose  door  he  lies  —  JQ  Gobbo  —  the  bravo. 
His  master  has  dealt  him  a  mortal  wound  to  remove  the 
last  witness  of  his  crimes.  Come  to  me  on  the  second  day 
at  dusk." 

Emerging  from  the  shadows  of  the  wall,  Tristan  hailed 
the  boatman,  and  a  few  moments  later  they  were  being 
rowed  towards  a  solitary  spot  near  the  base  of  the  Aventine, 
where  they  paid  and  dismissed  their  Charon  and  disappeared 
among  the  ruins. 


CHAPTER   X 


THE   BROKEN  SPELL 

GAIN  there  was  feasting  and 
high  revels  in  the  palace  of 
Theodora  on  Mount  Aventine. 
Colored  lanterns  were  sus 
pended  between  the  inter 
stices  of  orange  and  oleander 
trees;  and  incense  rose  in 
spiral  coils  from  bronze  and 
copper  vessels,  concealed 
among  leafy  bowers.  The 
great  banquet  hall  was  thronged  with  a  motley  crowd  of 
Romans,  Greeks,  men  from  the  coasts  of  Africa  and  Iceland, 
Spaniards,  Persians,  Burgundians,  Lombards,  men  from  the 
steppes  of  Sarmatia,  and  the  amber  coast  of  the  Baltic.  Here 
and  there  groups  were  discussing  the  wines  or  the  viands  or 
the  gossip  of  the  day. 

The  guests  marvelled  at  the  splendor,  wealth  and  the 
variegated  mosaics,  the  gilded  walls,  the  profusion  of  beau 
tiful  marble  columns  and  the  wonderfully  groined  ceiling. 
It  was  a  veritable  banquet  of  the  senses.  The  fairylike 
radiance  of  the  hall  with  its  truly  eastern  splendor  captivated 
the  eye.  From  remote  grottoes  came  the  sounds  of  flutes, 
citherns  and  harps,  quivering  through  the  dreaming  summer 
night. 

On  ebony  couches  upon  silver  frames,  covered  with  rare 
tapestries  and  soft  cushions,  the  guests  reclined.  Between 
two  immense,  crescent-shaped  tables,  made  of  citron  wood 
and  inlaid  with  ivory,  rose  a  miniature  bronze  fountain, 


428  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

representing  Neptune.  From  it  spurted  jets  of  scented 
water,  which  cooled  and  perfumed  the  air. 

Not  in  centuries  had  there  been  such  a  feast  in  Rome. 
Mountain,  plain  and  the  sea  had  been  relentlessly  laid  under 
tribute,  to  surrender  their  choicest  towards  supplying  the 
sumptuous  board. 

Nubian  slaves  in  spotless  white  kept  at  the  elbows  of  the 
guests  and  filled  the  golden  flagons  as  quickly  as  they  were 
emptied.  A  powerful  Cyprian  wine,  highly  spiced,  was 
served.  Under  its  stimulating  influence  the  revellers  soon 
gave  themselves  up  to  the  reckless  enjoyment  of  the  hour. 

As  the  feast  proceeded  the  guests  cried  more  loudly  for 
flagons  of  the  fiery  ecobalda.  They  quaffed  large  quantities 
of  this  wine  and  their  faces  became  flushed,  their  eyes 
sparkled  and  their  tongues  grew  more  and  more  free.  The 
temporary  restraint  they  had  imposed  upon  themselves 
gradually  vanished.  In  proportion  as  they  partook  of  the 
fiery  vintage  their  conviviality  increased. 

The  roll-call  was  complete.  None  was  found  missing. 
Here  was  the  Lord  of  Norba  and  Boso,  Lord  of  Caprara. 
Here  was  the  Lord  Atenulf  of  Benevento,  the  Lord  Amgar, 
from  the  coasts  of  the  Baltic;  here  was  Bembo  the  poet, 
Eugenius  the  philosopher  and  Alboin,  Lord  of  Farfa.  Here 
was  the  Prefect  of  Rome  and  Roger  de  Laval.  He,  too, 
had  joined  the  throng  of  idolators  at  the  shrine  of  Theodora. 
The  Lord  Guaimar  of  Salerno  was  there,  and  Guido,  Duke 
of  Spoleto. 

The  curtain  at  the  far  end  of  the  banquet  hall  slowly  parted. 

On  the  threshold  stood  Theodora. 

Silent,  rigid,  she  gazed  into  the  hall. 

Like  a  sudden  snow  on  a  summer  meadow,  a  white  silence 
fell  from  her  imagination  across  that  glittering,  gleaming 
tinselled  atmosphere.  Everywhere  the  dead  seemed  to  sit 
around  her,  watching,  as  in  a  trance,  strange  antics  of  the 
grimacing  dead. 


THE  BROKEN  SPELL  429 

A  vision  of  beauty  she  appeared,  radiantly  attired,  a  jew 
elled  diadem  upon  her  brow.  By  her  side  appeared  Basil, 
the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

When  her  gaze  fell  upon  the  motley  crowd,  a  disgust, 
such  as  she  had  never  known,  seized  her. 

She  seated  herself  on  the  dais,  reserved  for  her,  and  with 
queenly  dignity  bade  her  guests  welcome. 

Basil  occupied  the  seat  of  honor  at  her  right,  Roger  de 
Laval  at  her  left. 

Had  any  one  watched  the  countenances  of  Theodora  and 
of  Basil  he  would  have  surprised  thereon  an  expression  of 
ravening  anxiety.  To  themselves  they  appeared  like  two 
players,  neither  knowing  the  next  move  of  his  opponent,  yet 
filled  with  the  dire  assurance  that  upon  this  move  depended 
the  fate  of  the  house  of  cards  each  has  built  upon  a  foun 
dation  of  sand. 

At  last  the  Count  de  Laval  arose  and  whirled  his  glass 
about  his  head. 

"Twine  a  wreath  about  your  cups,"  he  shouted,  *'  and 
drink  to  the  glory  of  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world 
-  the  Lady  Theodora." 

They  rose  to  their  feet  and  shouted  their  endorsement 
till  the  very  arches  seemed  to  ring  with  the  echoes.  His 
initiative  was  received  with  such  favor  by  the  others  that, 
fired  with  the  desire  to  emulate  his  example,  they  fell  to 
singing  and  shouting  the  praise  of  the  woman  whose  beauty 
had  not  its  equal  in  Rome. 

Theodora  viewed  the  scene  of  dissipation  with  serenity 
and  composure,  and,  by  her  attitude  she  seemed,  in  a  strange 
way,  even  tacitly  to  encourage  them  to  drink  still  deeper. 
Faster,  ever  faster,  the  wine  coursed  among  the  guests. 
Some  of  them  became  more  and  more  boisterous,  others 
were  rendered  somnolent  and  fell  forward  in  a  stupor  upon 
the  silken  carpets. 

Theodora,   whose   restlessness   seemed   to   increase   with 


430  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

every  moment,  and  who  seemed  to  hold  herself  in  leash  by 
a  strenuous  effort  of  the  will,  suddenly  turned  to  Basil  and 
whispered  a  question  into  his  ear. 

A  silent  nod  came  in  response  and  the  next  moment  a 
clash  of  cymbals,  stormily  persistent,  roused  the  revellers 
from  their  stupor.  Then,  like  a  rainbow  garmented  Peri, 
floating  easefully  out  of  some  far-off  sphere  of  sky-wonders, 
an  aerial  maiden  shape  glided  into  the  full  lustre  of  the 
varying  light,  a  dancer  nude,  save  for  the  glistening  veil 
that  carelessly  enshrouded  her  limbs,  her  arms  and  hands 
being  adorned  with  circlets  of  tiny  golden  bells  which  kept 
up  a  melodious  jingle  as  she  moved.  And  now  began  the 
strangest  music,  music  that  seemed  to  hover  capriciously 
between  luscious  melody  and  harsh  discord,  a  wild  and 
curious  medley  of  fantastic  minor  suggestions  in  which  the 
imaginative  soul  might  discover  hints  of  tears  and  folly,  love 
and  madness.  To  this  uncertain  yet  voluptuous  measure 
the  glittering  girl  dancer  leaped  forward  with  a  startling 
abruptness  and,  halting  as  it  were  on  the  boundary  line 
between  the  dome  and  the  garden  beyond,  raised  her  rounded 
arms  in  a  snowy  arch  above  her  head. 

Her  pause  was  a  mere  breathing  spell  in  duration.  Drop 
ping  her  arms  with  a  swift  decision,  she  hurled  herself  into 
the  giddy  mazes  of  a  dance.  Round  and  round  she  floated, 
like  an  opal-winged  butterfly  in  a  net  of  sunbeams,  now 
seemingly  shaken  by  delicate  tremors,  as  aspen  leaves  are 
shaken  by  the  faintest  wind,  now  assuming  the  most  volup 
tuous  eccentricities  of  posture,  sometimes  bending  down 
wistfully  as  though  she  were  listening  to  the  chanting  of 
demon  voices  underground,  and  again,  with  her  waving 
white  hands,  appearing  to  summon  spirits  to  earth  from 
their  wanderings  in  the  upper  air.  Her  figure  was  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  seductive  grace  of  her  gestures;  not  only 
her  feet,  but  her  whole  body  danced,  her  very  features 
bespoke  abandonment  to  the  frenzy  of  her  rapid  movement. 


THE  BROKEN  SPELL  431 

Her  large  black  eyes  flashed  with  something  of  fierceness 
as  well  as  languor;  and  her  raven  hair  streamed  behind  her 
like  a  darkly  spread  wing. 

Wild  outbursts  of  applause  resounded  uproariously  through 
the  hall. 

Count  Roger  had  drawn  nearer  to  Theodora.  His  arms 
encircled  her  body. 

Theodora  bent  over  him. 

"  Not  to-night!  Not  to-night!  There  are  many  things 
to  consider.  To-morrow  I  shall  give  you  my  answer." 

He  looked  up  into  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  not  love  me?  " 

His  hot  breath  fanned  her  cheeks. 

Theodora  gave  a  shrug  and  turned  away,  sick  with  disgust. 

"  Love  —  I  hardly  know  what  it  means.  I  do  not  think  I 
have  ever  loved." 

Laval  sucked  hi  his  breath  between  his  teeth. 

"  Then  you  shall  love  me !  You  shall !  Ever  since  I  have 
come  to  Rome  have  I  desired  you!  And  the  woman  lives 
not  who  may  gainsay  my  appeal." 

She  smiled  tauntingly. 

He  had  seized  her  hand.  The  fierceness  of  his  grip  made 
her  gasp  with  pain. 

"  And  whatever  brought  you  to  Rome?  "  she  turned  to  him. 

"  I  came  hi  quest  of  one  who  had  betrayed  my  honor." 

"  And  you  found  her?  " 

"  Both !  "  came  the  laconic  reply. 

"  How  interesting,"  purred  Theodora,  suffering  his  odious 
embrace,  although  she  shuddered  at  his  touch. 

"  And,  man-like,  you  were  revenged?  " 

"  She  has  met  the  fate  I  had  decreed  upon  her  who  wan 
tonly  betrayed  the  honor  of  her  lord." 

"  Then  she  confessed?  " 

"  She  denied  her  guilt.  What  matter?  I  never  loved 
her.  It  is  you  I  love !  You,  divine  Theodora." 


432   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

And,  carried  away  by  a  gust  of  passion,  he  drew  her  to 
him,  covering  her  brow,  her  hair,  her  cheeks  with  kisses. 
But  she  turned  away  her  mouth. 

She  tried  to  release  herself  from  his  embrace. 

Roger  uttered  an  oath. 

"  I  have  tamed  women  before  —  ay  —  and  I  shall  tame 
you,"  he  sputtered,  utterly  disregarding  her  protests. 

She  drew  back  as  far  as  his  encircling  arms  permitted. 

"  Release  me,  my  lord !  "  she  said,  her  dark  eyes  flashing 
fire.  "  You  are  mad !  " 

"  No  heroics  —  fair  Theodora  -  Has  the  Wanton  Queen 
of  Rome  turned  into  a  haloed  saint?  " 

He  laughed.    His  mouth  was  close  to  her  lips. 

Revulsion  and  fury  seized  her.  Disengaging  her  hands 
she  struck  him  across  the  face. 

There  was  foam  on  his  lips.  He  caught  her  by  the  throat. 
Now  he  was  forcing  her  beneath  his  weight  with  the  strength 
of  one  insane  with  uncontrollable  passion. 

"  Help !  "  she  screamed  with  a  choking  sensation. 

A  shadow  passed  before  her  eyes.  Everything  seemed 
to  swim  around  her  in  eddying  circles  of  red.  Then  a  gur 
gling  sound.  The  grip  on  her  throat  relaxed.  Laval  rolled 
over  upon  the  floor  in  a  horrible  convulsion,  gasped  and 
expired. 

Basil's  dagger  had  struck  him  through,  piercing  his  heart. 

Slowly  Theodora  arose.  She  was  pale  as  death.  Her 
guests,  too  much  engaged  with  their  beautiful  partners,  had 
been  attracted  to  her  plight  but  by  her  sudden  outcry. 

They  stared  sullenly  at  the  dead  man  and  turned  to  their 
former  pursuits. 

Theodora  clapped  her  hands. 

Two  giant  Nubians  appeared.  She  pointed  to  the  corpse 
at  her  feet.  They  raised  it  up  between  them,  carried  it  out 
and  sank  it  in  the  Lotus  lake.  Others  wiped  away  the 
stains  of  blood. 


THE  BROKEN  SPELL  433 

Basil  bent  over  Theodora's  hands,  and  covered  them  with 
kisses,  muttering  words  of  endearment  which  but  increased 
the  discord  in  her  heart. 

She  released  herself,  resuming  her  seat  on  the  dais. 

"  It  is  the  old  fever,"  she  turned  to  the  man  beside  her. 
"  You  purchase  and  I  sell!  Nay  "  —  she  added  as  his  lips 
touched  her  own  —  "  there  is  no  need  for  a  lover's  attitude 
when  hucksters  meet." 

Though  the  guests  had  returned  to  their  seats,  a  strange 
silence  had  fallen  upon  the  assembly.  The  rythmical  splash 
ing  of  the  water  in  the  fountain  and  the  labored  breathing  of 
the  distressed  wine-bibbers  seemed  the  only  sounds  that 
were  audible  for  a  time. 

"  But  I  love  you,  Theodora,"  Basil  spoke  with  strangely 
dilated  eyes.  "  I  love  you  for  what  you  are,  for  all  the  evil 
you  have  wrought!  You,  alone!  For  you  have  I  done  this 
thing!  For  you  Alberic  lies  dead  in  some  unknown  glen. 
For  you  have  I  summoned  about  us  those  who  shall  seat  you 
in  the  high  place  that  is  yours  by  right  of  birth." 

Theodora  was  herself  again.  With  upraised  hand,  that 
shone  marble  white  in  the  ever-changing  light,  she  enjoined 
silence. 

"  What  of  that  other?  "  she  said,  while  her  eyes  held  those 
of  the  man  with  their  magic  spell. 

"  What  other?  "  he  stammered,  turning  pale. 

"  That  one!  "  she  flashed. 

At  that  moment  the  curtain  parted  again  and  into  the 
changing  light,  emitted  by  the  great  revolving  globe,  swayed 
a  woman.  At  first  it  seemed  a  statue  of  marble  that  had 
become  animated  and,  ere  consciousness  had  resumed  its 
sway,  was  slowly  gaining  life  and  motion,  still  bound  up  in 
the  dream  existence  into  which  some  unknown  power  had 
plunged  her. 

As  one  petrified,  Basil  stared  at  the  swaying  form  of  Hel- 
layne.  A  white  transparent  byssus  veil  enveloped  the 


434  UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

beautiful  limbs.  Her  wonderful  bare  arms  were  raised 
above  her  head,  which  was  slightly  inclined,  as  hi  a  listening 
attitude.  She  seemed  to  move  unconsciously  as  under  a 
spell  or  as  one  who  walks  hi  her  sleep.  Her  eyes  were 
closed.  The  pale  face  showed  suffering,  yet  had  not  lost 
one  whit  of  its  marvellous  beauty. 

The  revellers  stared  spellbound  at  what,  to  their  super 
stitious  minds,  seemed  the  wraith  of  slain  Roxana  returned 
to  earth  to  haunt  her  rival. 

Suddenly,  without  warning,  the  dark-robed  form  of  a  man 
dashed  from  behind  a  pillar.  No  one  seemed  to  have  noted 
his  presence.  Overthrowing  every  impediment,  he  bounded 
straight  for  Hellayne,  when  he  saw  the  lithe  form  snatched 
up  before  his  very  eyes  and  her  abductor  disappear  with  his 
burden,  as  if  the  ground  had  swallowed  them. 

It  seemed  to  Tristan  that  he  was  rushing  through  an  end 
less  succession  of  corridors  and  passages,  crossing  each 
other  at  every  conceivable  angle,  hi  his  mad  endeavor  to 
snatch  his  precious  prey  from  her  abductor  when,  hi  a  rotunda 
in  which  these  labyrinthine  passages  converged,  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  an  apparition  that  seemed  to  have 
risen  from  the  floor. 

Before  him  stood  Theodora. 

Her  dark  shadow  was  wavering  across  the  moonlit  net 
work  of  light.  The  red  and  blue  robes  of  the  painted  figures 
on  the  wall  glowed  about  her  like  blood  and  azure,  while  the 
moonlight  laid  lemon  colored  splashes  upon  the  varied 
mosaics  of  the  floor. 

His  pulses  beating  furiously,  a  sense  of  suffocation  in  his 
throat,  Tristan  paused  as  the  woman  barred  his  way. 

"Let  me  pass!"  he  said  imperiously,  trying  to  suit  the 
action  to  the  word. 

But  he  had  not  reckoned  with  the  woman's  mood. 

"  You  shall  not,"  Theodora  said,  a  strange  fire  gleaming 
in  her  eyes. 


THE  BROKEN  SPELL  435 

"  Where  is  Hellayne?    What  have  you  done  with  her?  " 

Theodora  regarded  him  calmly  from  under  drooping 
lashes. 

"  That  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said  with  a  mocking  voice. 
"  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  rescue  her  from  the  claws  of  one 
who  has  again  got  her  into  his  power.  Her  mind  is  gone, 
my  Lord  Tristan!  Be  reconciled  to  your  fate!  " 

"  Surely  you  cannot  mean  this?  "  Tristan  gasped,  his  face 
under  the  monk's  cowl  pale  as  death,  while  his  eyes  stared 
unbelievingly  into  those  of  the  woman. 

"  Is  not  what  you  have  seen,  proof  that  I  speak  truth?  " 
Theodora  interposed,  slightly  veiled  mockery  in  her  tone. 

"  Then  this  is  your  deed,"  Tristan  flashed. 

Theodora  gave  a  shrug. 

"  What  if  it  were?  " 

"  She  is  in  Basil's  power?  " 

"  An  experienced  suitor." 

"  Woman,  why  have  you  done  this  thing  to  me?  " 

His  hands  went  to  his  head  and  he  reeled  like  a  drunken 
man. 

Theodora  laid  her  hands  on  Tristan's  shoulders. 

"  Because  I  want  you  —  because  I  love  you,  Tristan,"  she 
said  slowly,  and  her  wonderful  face  seemed  to  become 
illumined  as  it  were,  from  within.  "  Nay  —  do  not  shrink 
from  me !  I  know  what  you  would  say !  Theodora  —  the 
courtesan  queen  of  Rome !  You  deem  I  have  no  heart  - 
no  soul.  You  deem  that  these  lips,  defiled  by  the  kisses  of 
beasts,  cannot  speak  truth.  Yet,  if  I  tell  you,  Tristan,  that 
this  is  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life  that  I  have  loved,  that 
I  love  you  with  a  love  such  as  only  those  know  who  have 
thirsted  for  it  all  their  lives,  yet  have  never  known  but  its 
base  counterfeit ;  if  I  tell  you  —  that  upon  your  answer  de 
pends  my  fate  —  my  lif e  —  Tristan  —  will  you  believe  —  will 
you  save  the  woman  whom  nothing  else  on  earth  can  save?  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,"  Tristan  replied. 


436  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Theodora's  face  had  grown  white  to  the  lips. 

"  You  shall  stay  —  and  you  shall  listen  to  me !  "  she  said, 
without  raising  her  voice,  as  if  she  were  discoursing  upon 
some  trifling  matter,  and  Tristan  obeyed,  compelled  by  the 
look  in  her  eyes. 

Theodora  felt  Tristan's  melancholy  gaze  resting  upon  her, 
as  it  had  rested  upon  her  at  their  first  meeting.  Was  not 
he,  too,  like  herself,  a  lone  wanderer  in  this  strange  country 
called  the  world !  But  his  manhood  had  remained  unsullied. 
How  she  envied  and  how  she  hated  that  other  woman  to 
whom  his  love  belonged.  Softly  she  spoke,  as  one  speaks 
in  a  dream. 

She  had  gone  forth  in  quest  of  happiness  —  happiness  at 
any  price.  And  she  had  paid  the  forfeit  with  a  poisoned  life. 
The  desire  to  conquer  had  eclipsed  every  other.  The  lure  of 
the  senses  was  too  mighty  to  be  withstood.  Yet  how  short 
are  youth  and  life!  One  should  snatch  its  pleasures  while 
one  may. 

HO.W  fleet  had  been  the  golden  empty  days  of  joy.  She 
had  drained  the  brimming  goblet  to  the  dregs.  If  he  mis 
judged  her  motive,  her  self-abasement,  if  he  spurned  the 
love  she  held  out  to  him,  the  one  supreme  sacrifice  of  her 
life  had  been  in  vain.  She  would  fight  for  it.  Soul  and 
body  she  would  throw  herself  into  the  conflict.  Her  last 
chance  of  happiness  was  at  stake.  The  poison,  rankling  in 
her  veins,  she  knew  could  not  be  expelled  by  idle  sophisms. 
Life,  the  despot,  claimed  his  dues.  Had  she  lived  utterly 
in  vain?  Not  altogether!  She  would  atone,  even  though 
the  bonds  of  her  own  forging,  which  bound  her  to  an  ulcered 
past,  could  be  broken  but  by  the  hand  of  that  crowned  phan 
tom  :  Death. 

Now  she  was  kneeling  before  him.  She  had  grasped  his 
hands. 

"  I  love  you !  "  she  wailed.  "  Tristan,  I  love  you  and  my 
love  is  killing  me!  Be  merciful.  Have  pity  on  me.  Love 


THE  BROKEN  SPELL  437 

me !  Be  mine  —  if  but  for  an  hour !  It  is  not  much  to  ask ! 
After,  do  with  me  what  you  will !  Torture  me  —  curse  me 
before  Heaven  —  I  care  not  —  I  am  yours  —  body  and  soul. 
—  I  love  you!  " 

Her  voice  vibrated  with  mad  idolatrous  pleading. 

He  tried  to  release  himself.  She  dragged  herself  yet 
closer  to  him. 

"Tristan!  Tristan!"  she  murmured.  "Have  you  a 
heart?  Can  you  reject  me  when  I  pray  thus  to  you?  When 
I  offer  you  all  I  have?  All  that  I  am,  or  ever  hope  to  be? 
Am  I  so  repellent  to  you?  Many  men  would  give  their  lives 
if  I  were  to  say  to  them  what  I  say  to  you.  They  are  nothing 
to  me  —  you  alone  are  my  world,  the  breath  of  my  existence. 
You,  alone,  can  save  me  from  myself !  " 

Tristan  felt  his  senses  swooning  at  the  sight  of  her  beauty. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  froze  on  his  lips.  It  was 
too  impossible,  too  unbelievable.  Theodora,  the  most  beau 
tiful,  the  most  powerful  woman  in  Rome  was  kneeling  before 
him,  imploring  that  which  any  man  in  Rome  would  have 
deemed  himself  a  thousand  fold  blessed  to  receive.  And  he 
remained  untouched. 

She  read  his  innermost  thoughts  and  knew  the  supreme 
moment  when  she  must  win  or  lose  him  forever  was  at  hand. 

"  Tristan  —  Tristan,"  she  sobbed  —  and  in  the  distant 
grove  sobbed  flutes  and  sistrum  and  citherns  —  "  say  what 
you  will  of  me;  it  is  true.  I  own  it.  Yet  I  am  not  worse 
than  other  women  who  have  sold  their  souls  for  power  or 
gold.  Am  I  not  fair  to  look  upon?  And  is  all  this  beauty  of 
my  face  and  form  worthless  in  your  eyes,  and  you  no  more 
than  man?  Kill  me  —  destroy  me  —  I  care  naught.  But 
love  me  —  as  I  love  you !  "  and  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  self- 
abandonment  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  stood  before  him,  a 
very  bacchante  of  wild  loveliness  and  passion.  "  Look  upon 
me!  Am  I  not  more  beautiful  than  the  Lady  Hellayne? 
You  shall  not  —  dare  not  —  spurn  such  love  as  mine!  " 


438   UNDER   THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Deep  silence  supervened.  The  expression  of  her  coun 
tenance  seemed  quite  unearthly;  her  eyes  seemed  wells  of 
fire  and  the  tense  white  arms  seemed  to  seek  a  victim  round 
which  they  might  coil  themselves  to  its  undoing. 

The  name  she  had  uttered  hi  her  supreme  outburst  of 
passion  had  broken  the  spell  she  had  woven  about  him. 

Hellayne  —  his  white  dove !  What  was  her  fate  at  this 
moment  while  he  was  listening  to  the  pleadings  of  the 
enchantress? 

Theodora  advanced  towards  him  with  outstretched  arms. 

He  stayed  her  with  a  fierce  gesture. 

"Stand  back!"  he  said.  "Such  love  as  yours — what 
is  it?  Shame  to  whosoever  shall  accept  it!  I  desire  you  not." 

"  You  dare  not ! "  she  panted,  pale  as  death. 

"  Dare  not?  " 

But  she  was  now  fairly  roused.  All  the  savagery  in  her 
nature  was  awakened  and  she  stood  before  him  like  some 
beautiful  wild  animal  at  bay,  trembling  from  head  to  foot 
with  the  violence  of  her  passion. 

"  You  scorn  me ! "  she  said  in  fierce,  panting  accents,  that 
scarcely  rose  above  an  angry  whisper.  "  You  make  a  mock 
ery  of  my  anguish  and  despair  —  holding  yourself  aloof  with 
your  prated  virtue!  But  you  shall  suffer  for  it!  I  am  your 
match!  You  shall  not  spurn  me  a  third  tune!  I  have 
humbled  myself  hi  the  dust  before  you,  I,  Theodora  —  and 
you  have  spurned  the  love  I  have  offered  you  —  you  have 
spurned  Theodora  —  for  that  white  marble  statue  whom  I 
should  strangle  before  your  very  eyes  were  she  here!  You 
shall  not  see  her  again,  my  Lord  Tristan.  Her  fate  is  sealed 
from  this  moment.  On  the  altars  of  Satan  is  she  to  be 
sacrificed  on  to-morrow  night !  " 

Tristan  listened  like  paralyzed  to  her  words,  unable  to 
move. 

She  saw  her  opportunity.  She  sprang  at  him.  Her  arms 
coiled  about  him.  Her  moist  kisses  seared  his  lips. 


THE  BROKEN  SPELL  439 

"  Oh  Tristan  —  Tristan,"  she  pleaded,  "  forgive  me,  for 
give!  I  know  not  what  I  say!  I  hunger  for  the  kisses  of 
your  lips,  the  clasp  of  your  arms !  Do  you  know  —  do  you 
ever  think  of  your  power?  The  cruel  terrible  power  of  your 
eyes,  the  beauty  that  makes  you  more  like  an  angel  than 
man?  Have  you  no  pity?  I  am  well  nigh  mad  with  jealousy 
of  that  other  whom  you  keep  enshrined  hi  your  heart !  Could 
she  love,  like  I?  She  was  not  made  for  you  —  I  am !  Tris 
tan  —  come  with  me  —  come  —  " 

Tighter  and  tighter  her  arms  encircled  his  neck.  The 
moonbeams  showed  him  her  eyes  alight  with  rapture,  her 
lips  quivering  with  passion,  her  bosom  heaving.  The  blood 
surged  up  in  his  brain  and  a  red  mist  swam  before  his  eyes. 

With  a  supreme  effort  Tristan  released  himself.  Flinging 
her  from  him,  he  rushed  out  of  the  rotunda  as  if  pursued  by 
an  army  of  demons.  If  he  remained  another  moment  he 
knew  he  was  lost. 

A  lightning  bolt  shot  down  from  the  dark  sky  vault  close 
beside  him  as  he  reached  the  gardens,  and  a  peal  of  thunder 
crashed  after  hi  quick  succession. 

It  drowned  the  delirious  outburst  of  laughter  that  shrilled 
from  the  rotunda  where  Theodora,  with  eyes  wide  with 
misery  and  madness,  stared  as  transfixed  down  the  path 
where  Tristan  had  vanished  in  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  BLACK  MASS 

HE  night  was  sultry  and  dismal. 
Dense  black  clouds  rolled 
over  the  Roman  Campagna, 
burning  blue  in  the  flashes  of 
jagged  lightnings  and  the  low 
boom  of  distant  thunder  rever 
berated  ominously  among  the 
hills  and  valleys  of  Rome,  when 
three  men,  cloaked  and  wear 
ing  black  velvet  masks,  skirted 
the  huge  mediaeval  wall  with  which  Pope  Leo  IV  had  girdled 
the  gardens  of  the  Vatican  and,  passing  along  the  fortified 
rampart  which  surrounded  the  Vatican  Hill,  plunged  into  the 
trackless  midnight  gloom  of  deep,  branch-shadowed  thickets. 
Not  a  word  was  spoken  between  them.  Silently  they 
followed  their  leader,  whose  tall,  dark  form  was  revealed  to 
them  only  among  the  dense  network  of  trees  and  the  fantastic 
shapes  of  the  underbrush,  when  a  flash  of  white  lightning 
flamed  across  the  limitless  depths  of  the  midnight  horizon. 
Not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness,  save  the  menacing  growl 
of  the  thunder,  the  intermittent  soughing  of  the  wind  among 
the  branches,  or  the  occasional  drip-drip  of  dewy  moisture 
trickling  tearfully  from  the  leaves,  mingling  with  the  dreamy, 
gurgling  sound  of  the  fountains,  concealed  among  bosquets 
of  orange  and  almond  trees. 

From  tune  to  tune,  as  they  proceeded  upon  their  nocturnal 
errand,  the  sounds  of  their  footsteps  being  swallowed  up  by 


THE  BLACK  MASS  441 

the  soft  carpet  of  moss,  they  caught  fleet  glimpses  of  marble 
statues,  gleaming  white,  like  ghosts,  from  among  the  tall 
dark  cypresses,  or  the  shimmering  surface  of  a  marble- 
cinctured  lake,  mirrored  in  the  sheen  of  the  lightnings. 

The  grove  they  traversed  assumed  by  degrees  the  char 
acter  of  a  tropical  forest.  Untrodden  by  human  feet,  it 
seemed  as  though  nature,  grown  tired  of  the  iridescent  floral 
beauty  of  the  environing  gardens,  had,  in  a  sudden  malevo 
lent  mood,  torn  and  blurred  'the  fair  green  frondage  and 
twisted  every  bud  awry,  till  the  awkward,  mis-shapen  limbs 
resembled  the  contorted  branches  of  wind-blown  trees. 
Great  jagged  leaves  covered  with  prickles  and  stained  with 
blotches  as  of  spilt  poison,  thick  brown  stems,  glistening  with 
slimy  moisture  and  coiled  up  like  the  sleeping  bodies  of 
snakes,  masses  of  blue  and  purple  fungi,  and  blossoms  seem 
ingly  of  the  orchid-species,  some  like  fleshly  tongues,  others 
like  the  waxen  yellow  fingers  of  a  dead  hand,  protruded 
spectrally  through  the  matted  foliage,  while  all  manner  of 
strange  overpowering  odors  increased  the  swooning  oppress 
iveness  of  the  sultry,  languorous  air. 

Arrived  at  a  clearing  they  paused. 

In  the  distance  the  Basilica  of  Constantine  was  sunk  in 
deep  repose.  All  about  them  was  the  pagan  world.  Goat- 
footed  Pan  seemed  to  peer  through  the  interstices  of  the 
branches.  The  fountains  crooned  in  their  marble  basins. 
Centaurs  and  Bacchantes  disported  themselves  among  the 
flowering  shrubs  and,  dark  against  the  darker  background 
of  the  night,  the  vast  ramparts  of  Leo  IV  seemed  to  shut  out 
light  and  lif  e  together. 

The  Prefect  of  the  Camera  turned  to  his  companions,  after 
peering  cautiously  into  the  thickets. 

"  We  must  wait  for  the  guards,"  he  said  in  a  whisper. 
"  It  were  perilous  to  proceed  farther  without  them." 

Tristan's  hand  tightened  upon  his  sword-hilt.  There  were 
tears  in  his  eyes  when  he  thought  of  Hellayne  and  all  that 


442   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

was  at  stake,  the  overthrow  of  the  enemies  of  Christ.  He 
had,  in  a  manner,  conquered  the  terrible  fear  that  had  palsied 
heart  and  soul  as  they  had  started  out  after  nightfall.  Now, 
taking  his  position  as  he  found  it,  since  he  felt  that  his  fate 
was  ruled  by  some  unseen  force  which  he  might  not  resist, 
he  was  upheld  by  a  staunch  resolution  to  do  his  part  in  the 
work  assigned  to  him  and  thereby  to  merit  forgiveness  and 
absolution. 

Notwithstanding  the  enforced  calm  that  filled  his  soul, 
there  were  moments  when,  assailed  by  a  terrible  dread,  lest 
he  might  be  too  late  to  prevent  the  unspeakable  crime,  his 
energies  were  almost  paralyzed.  Silent  as  a  ghost  he  had 
traversed  the  grove  by  the  side  of  his  equally  silent  com 
panions,  more  intent  upon  his  quarry  than  the  patient,  velvet- 
footed  puma  that  follows  in  the  high  branches  of  the  trees 
the  unsuspecting  traveller  below. 

Was  it  his  imagination,  was  it  the  beating  of  his  own 
heart  in  the  silence  that  preceded  the  breaking  of  the  storm ; 
or  did  he  indeed  hear  the  dull  throbbing  of  the  drums  that 
heralded  the  approach  of  the  crimson  banners  of  Satan? 

The  wind  increased  with  every  moment.  The  thunder 
growled  ever  nearer.  The  heavens  were  one  sheet  of  flame. 
The  trees  began  to  bend  their  tops  to  the  voice  of  the  hurri 
cane.  The  air  was  hot  as  if  blown  from  the  depths  of  the 
desert.  As  the  uproar  of  the  elements  increased,  strange 
sounds  seemed  to  mingle  with  the  voices  of  the  storm.  Black 
shadows  as  of  dancing  witches  darkened  the  clearing,  spread 
and  wheeled,  interlaced  and  disentwined.  In  endless  thou 
sands  they  seemed  to  fly,  like  the  withered  and  perishing 
leaves  of  autumn. 

Involuntarily  Tristan  grasped  the  arm  of  the  Monk  of 
Cluny. 

"  Are  these  real  shapes  —  or  do  my  eyes  play  me  false?  " 
he  faltered,  an  expression  of  terror  on  his  countenance,  such 
as  no  consideration  of  earthly  danger  could  have  evoked. 


THE  BLACK  MASS  443 

"  To-night,  my  son,  we  are  invincible,"  replied  the  monk. 
"  Trust  in  the  Crucified  Christ !  " 

Across  the  plaisaunce,  washed  white  by  the  sheen  of  the 
lightnings, there  was  a  stir  as  of  an  approaching  forest.  Tris 
tan  watched  as  in  the  throes  of  a  dream. 

A  few  moments  later  the  little  band  was  joined  by  the 
newcomers,  masked,  garbed  in  sombre  black  and  heavily 
armed,  three-score  Spaniards,  trusted  above  their  compan 
ions  for  their  loyalty  and  allegiance  to  Holy  Church.  Among 
them  Tristan  recognized  the  Cardinal-Archbishop  of  Ravenna, 
the  Bishop  of  Orvieto  and  the  Prefect  of  Rome. 

Odo  of  Cluny  noted  Tristan's  shrinking  at  the  sight  of  the 
two  men  who  had  been  present  when  the  terrible  accusation 
had  been  hurled  against  him  on  that  fatal  morning  —  the 
accusation  in  the  Lateran,  which  had  launched  him  in  the 
dungeons  of  Castel  San  Angelo. 

He  comforted  the  trembling  youth. 

"  They  know  now  that  the  charge  was  false,"  he  said. 
"  To-night  we  shall  conquer.  We  shall  set  our  foot  upon 
Satan's  neck." 

Withdrawing  under  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  regardless  of 
the  increasing  fury  of  the  storm,  the  leaders  held  whispered 
consultation. 

Before  them,  set  in  the  massive  wall,  appeared  a  door  not 
more  than  five  feet  high,  studded  with  large  nails. 

The  Prefect  of  Rome  bent  forward  and  inserted  a  gleaming 
piece  of  steel  in  the  keyhole.  After  a  wrench  or  two,  which 
convinced  the  onlookers  that  the  door  had  been  long  in  disuse, 
it  swung  inward  with  a  groan.  The  Prefect,  with  a  muttered 
imprecation,  beckoned  his  followers  to  enter,  and  when  they 
were  assembled  in  what  appeared  to  be  a  courtyard,  he  took 
pains  to  close  the  door  himself,  to  avoid  the  least  noise  that 
might  reach  the  ear  of  those  within  the  enclosure. 

At  the  far  end  of  this  courtyard  a  shadowy  pavilion  arose, 
culled  from  the  Stygian  gloom  by  the  sheen  of  the  lightnings. 


444  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

It  seemed  to  have  been  erected  in  remote  antiquity.  A 
circular  structure  of  considerable  extent,  its  ruinous  exterior 
revealed  traces  of  Etruscan  architecture.  No  one  dared  set 
foot  in  it,  for  it  was  rumored  to  be  the  abode  of  evil  spirits. 
Its  interior  was  reported  to  be  a  network  of  intricate  galleries, 
leading  into  subterranean  chambers,  secret  and  secluded 
places  into  which  human  foot  never  strayed,  for,  not  unlike 
the  catacombs,  it  was  well-nigh  impossible  to  find  the  exit 
from  its  labyrinthine  passages  without  the  saving  thread  of 
Ariadne. 

At  a  signal  from  the  Prefect  of  the  Camera  all  stopped. 
Heavy  drops  of  rain  were  falling.  The  hurricane  increased 
in  fury. 

It  was  a  weird  scene  and  one  the  memory  of  which  lingered 
long  after  that  eventful  night  with  Tristan. 

Black  cypresses  and  holm-oaks  formed  a  dense  wall 
around  the  pavilion  on  two  sides.  In  the  distance  the  white 
limbs  of  some  pagan  statues  could  be  seen  gleaming  through 
the  dark  foliage.  And,  as  from  a  subterranean  cavern,  a 
distant  droning  chant  struck  the  ear  now  and  then  with 
fateful  import. 

Now  the  Prefect  of  Rome  threw  off  his  cloak.  The  others 
did  likewise.  Their  masks  they  retained. 

"  There  is  a  secret  entrance,  unknown  even  to  these 
spawns  of  hell,  behind  the  pavilion,"  he  addressed  his  com 
panions  in  a  subdued  tone,  hardly  audible  in  the  shrieking  of 
the  storm.  "  It  is  concealed  among  tall  weeds  and  has  long 
been  in  disuse.  The  door  is  almost  invisible  and  they  think 
themselves  safe  in  the  performance  of  their  iniquities  below." 

"  How  can  we  reach  this  pit  of  hell?  "  Tristan,  quivering 
with  ill-repressed  excitement  interposed  at  this  juncture. 
He  could  hardly  restrain  himself.  On  every  moment  hung 
the  life  of  the  being  dearer  to  him  than  all  the  world, and  he 
chafed  under  the  restraint  like  a  restive  steed.  If  they 
should  be  too  late,  even  now ! 


THE  BLACK  MASS  445 

But  the  Prefect  retained  his  calm  demeanor  knowing  what 
was  at  stake.  It  was  not  enough  to  locate  the  chapel  of 
Satan.  Those  participating  in  the  unholy  rites  must  not  be 
given  the  chance  to  escape.  They  must  be  taken,  dead  or 
alive,  to  the  last  man. 

"  We  have  with  us  one  who  is  familiar  with  every  nook  in 
the  city  of  Rome,"  the  Prefect  turned  to  the  Cardinal-Arch 
bishop  of  Ravenna.  "  Long  have  we  suspected  that  all  is 
not  well  in  the  deserted  pavilion.  But  though  we  watched 
by  day  and  by  night  nothing  seemed  to  reward  our  efforts, 
until  one  stormy  night  a  dreadful  shape  with  the  face  of  a 
devil  came  forth,  and  the  sight  so  paralyzed  those  who 
watched  from  afar  that  they  fled  in  dismay,  believing  it  was 
the  Evil  One  hi  person  who  had  come  forth  from  the  bowels 
of  the  earth.  From  yonder  door  a  dark  corridor  leads  to  a 
shaft  whence  it  winds  hi  a  slight  incline  into  the  devil's 
chapel  below.  The  latter  is  so  situated  that  we  can  watch 
these  outcasts  at  their  devotions,  unseen,  our  presence 
unguessed.  This  way!  Let  silence  be  the  password.  Keep 
in  touch  with  each  other,  for  the  darkness  is  as  that  of  the 
grave." 

A  flash  of  lightning  that  seemed  to  rend  the  very  heavens 
enveloped  them  for  a  moment  in  its  sulphureous  glare,  fol 
lowed  by  a  crash  of  thunder  that  shook  the  very  earth.  The 
hurricane  shrieked,  and  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents. 

They  had  advanced  to  the  very  edge  of  the  underbrush, 
stumbling  over  the  heads  and  torsos  of  broken  statues  that 
lay  among  parasitic  herbage.  Monstrous  decaying  leaves 
curled  upward,  leprous  in  the  lightnings.  A  poison  mist 
seemed  to  hover  over  this  lonely  and  deserted  pleasure-house 
of  ancient  Pelasgian  days. 

Skirting  the  haunted  pavilion,  unmindful  of  the  onslaught 
of  the  elements,  they  took  a  path  so  narrow  that  they  could 
but  advance  in  single  file.  This  path  had  been  cut  and 
beaten  by  the  Prefect's  guards,  for  the  weeds  and  under- 


446  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

brush  luxuriated,  until  they  mounted  some  ten  feet  against 
the  walls  of  the  pavilion. 

They  had  now  reached  the  back  wall  and  proceeded  in 
utter  darkness  broken  only  by  the  flashes  of  lightning.  They 
passed  through  a  half-ruined  archway  and  at  last  came  to  a 
halt,  prompted  by  those  in  front,  whose  progress  had  been 
stopped  by,  what  the  others  guessed  to  be,  the  door.  They 
had  to  work  warily,  to  keep  it  from  falling  inward.  At  last 
the  movement  continued  and  they  entered  the  night-wrapt 
corridor. 

Tristan  had  taken  his  station  directly  behind  the  Prefect  of 
Rome.  The  ecclesiastics,  for  their  own  protection,  had  been 
assigned  the  rear. 

By  the  sheen  of  lightnings  a  pile  of  brushwood  was  revealed 
to  the  sight,  which  the  Prefect,  in  a  low  tone,  ordered  to  be 
cleared  away,  whereupon  a  circular  opening  appeared,  like 
the  entrance  of  a  well. 

The  Prefect  summoned  the  leaders  around  him. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  in  silence  and  listened. 

Between  the  peals  of  the  thunder  which  rolled  in  terrifying 
echoes  over  the  Seven  Hills,  the  trained  ear  could  distin 
guish  a  strange,  droning  sound  that  seemed  to  come  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

"  Even  now  the  Black  Mass  is  commencing,"  he  turned 
to  Tristan.  "  We  are  but  just  in  time." 

After  a  pause  he  continued : 

"  We  must  proceed  in  darkness.  The  faintest  glimmer 
might  betray  our  presence.  I  shall  lead  the  way.  Let  each 
follow  warily.  Let  each  be  in  touch  with  the  other.  Let  all 
stop  when  I  stop.  We  shall  arrive  in  a  circular  gallery, 
whence  we  may  all  witness  the  abomination  below.  From 
this  gallery  several  flights  of  winding  stairs  lead  into  the 
devil's  chapel.  Let  us  descend  in  silence.  When  you  hear 
the  signal  —  down  the  quick  descent  and  —  upon  them !  " 

One  by  one  they  disappeared  in  the  dark  aperture.    Their 


THE  BLACK  MASS  447 

feet  touched  ground  while  they  still  supported  themselves  on 
their  arms.  They  found  themselves  in  a  subterranean 
chamber,  in  impenetrable  darkness,  whose  hot,  damp  murk 
almost  suffocated  the  intruders. 

Slowly,  with  infinite  caution,  in  infinite  silence,  they  pro 
ceeded.  Every  man  stretched  his  hand  before  him  to  touch 
a  companion. 

The  passage  began  to  slant,  yet  the  incline  was  gradual. 
Their  feet  touched  soft  earth  which  swallowed  the  sound  of 
their  steps.  There  was  neither  echo  nor  vibration,  only 
murky  silence  and  the  night  of  the  grave. 

A  low,  droning  sound,  infinitely  remote,  a  sound  not  unlike 
that  of  swarming  bees  heard  at  a  great  distance,  was  now 
wafted  to  their  ears. 

A  shudder  ran  through  that  long  chain  of  living  men,  who 
were  carrying  the  Cross  into  the  very  abyss  of  Hell. 

For  they  knew  they  were  listening  to.  the  infernal  choir, 
they  were  approaching  the  hidden  chapel  of  Satan.  The  chant 
began  to  swell.  Still  they  continued  upon  their  descent. 

The  imprisoned  air  became  hotter  and  murkier,  almost 
suffocating  in  its  miasmatic  waves  that  assailed  the  senses 
and  seemed  to  weigh  like  lead  upon  the  brain. 

Now  the  tunnel  turned  sharply  at  right  angles  and  after 
proceeding  some  twenty  or  thirty  paces  in  Stygian  darkness, 
a  faint  crimson  glow  began  suddenly  to  drive  the  nocturnal 
gloom  before  it,  and  they  emerged  in  a  gallery,  terminating 
in  a  number  of  dark  archways,  from  which  narrow  winding 
stairs  led  into  the  hall  below.  Small  round  apertures, 
resembling  port-holes,  permitted  a  glimpse  into  the  chapel  of 
Satan,  and  a  weird,  droning  chant  was  rising  rythmically 
from  the  night-wrapt  depths  of  the  pavilion. 

Following  the  example  of  the  leader,  they  stole  on  tiptoe 
to  the  unglazed  port-holes  and  gazed  below,  and  eager,  yet 
trembling,  with  the  anticipation  of  the  dread  mysteries  they 
were  about  to  witness. 


448  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

At  first  they  could  not  see  anything  distinctly,  owing  to 
the  crimson  mist  that  seemed  to  come  rolling  into  the  chapel 
as  from  some  furnace  and  their  eyes,  after  having  been  long 
in  the  darkness,  refused  to  focus  themselves.  But,  by 
degrees,  the  scene  became  more  distinct. 

In  the  circular  chapel  below  dim  figures,  robed  in  crimson, 
moved  to  and  fro,  bearing  aloft  perfumed  cressets  on  metal 
poles,  and  in  its  flickering  light  an  altar  became  visible,  hung 
with  crimson,  the  summit  of  which  was  lost  in  the  gloom 
overhead.  Here  and  there  indistinct  shapes  were  stretched 
in  hideous  contortions  on  the  pavement,  and  as  others  drew 
nigh,  these  rose  and,  throwing  back  their  heads,  made  the 
vault  re-echo  with  deep-chested  roaring. 

Suddenly  the  metal  bound  gates  of  a  low  arched  doorway, 
faintly  discernible  in  the  uncertain  light,  seemed  to  be 
unclosing  with  a  slow  and  majestic  movement,  letting  loose 
a  flood  of  light  hi  which  the  ghostly  faces  of  the  worshippers 
leapt  into  sudden  clearness,  men  and  women,  all  seemingly 
belonging  to  the  highest  ranks  of  society.  The  crimson 
garbs  of  the  officiating  priests  showed  like  huge  stains  of 
blood  against  the  dark-veined  marble, 

Tristan  gazed  with  the  rest,  stark  with  terror.  The  blood 
seemed  to  freeze  in  his  veins  as  his  eyes  swept  the  circular 
vault  and  rested  at  the  shrine's  farther  end,  where  branching 
candlesticks  flanked  each  the  foot  of  two  short  flights  of 
stairs  that  led  up  to  the  summit  of  the  great  altar,  garnished 
at  the  corner  with  hideous  masks,  and  sending  up  from  time 
to  time  eddies  of  smoke,  through  the  reek  of  which  some  two 
score  of  men  watched  the  ceremony  from  above. 

Dun  shapes  passed  to  and  fro.  The  droning  chant  con 
tinued.  At  length  a  shapeless  form  evolved  itself  from  the 
crimson  mist,  approached  the  altar  and  cast  something 
upon  it.  Instantly  a  blaze  of  light  flooded  the  shrine,  and 
in  its  radiance  a  weazened,  bat-like  creature  was  revealed, 
garbed  in  the  fantastic  imitation  of  a  priest's  robes. 


THE  BLACK  MASS  449 

Approaching  the  infernal  altar,  upon  which  lay  obscene 
symbols  of  horror,  he  mounted  the  steps  and  his  figure 
melted  into  the  gloom. 

With  the  cold  sweat  streaming  from  his  brow,  with  a 
shudder  that  almost  turned  him  dizzy,  Tristan  recognized 
Bessarion.  The  High  Priest  of  Satan  sat  upon  the  Devil's 
altar.  There  was  stir  and  movement  hi  the  chapel.  Then 
a  deep  silence  supervened. 

Petrifaction  fell  upon  the  assembly.  All  voices  were 
hushed,  all  movement  arrested.  From  the  black  throne, 
surrounded  by  terror,  where  sat  the  great  Unknown,  came 
a  dull  hoarse  roar,  like  the  roar  of  an  earthquake. 

The  words  were  unintelligible  to  the  champions  of  the 
Cross.  They  were  answered  by  the  Sorcerer's  Confession, 
the  hideous,  terrible  contortion  of  the  Credo,  and  then  Tris 
tan's  ears  were  assailed  by  the  sounds  he  had  heard  on  that 
fatal  night,  ere  he  lost  consciousness,  and  again  in  the  Cata 
combs  of  St.  Calixtus,  sounds  meaningless  in  themselves, 
but  fraught  with  terrible  import  to  him  now ! 

"  Emen  Hetan!  Emen  Hetan!  Palu!  Baalberi!  Emen 
Hetan!  "- 

Pandemonium  broke  loose. 

"Agora!    Agora!    Patrisa!    Agora!" 

There  was  screeching  of  pipes,  made  of  dead  men's  bones. 
A  drum  stretched  with  the  skin  of  the  hanged  was  beaten 
with  the  tail  of  a  wolf.  Like  leaves  in  a  howling  storm  the 
fantastic  red  robed  forms  whirled  about,  from  left  to  right, 
from  right  to  left.  And  in  their  midst,  immobile  and  terrible, 
sat  the  Hircus  Nocturnus,  enthroned  upon  the  shrine. 

When  at  last  they  stopped,  panting,  exhausted,  the  same 
voice,  deafening  as  an  earthquake,  roared : 

"  Bring  hither  the  bride  —  the  stainless  dove!  " 

A  chorus  of  hideous  laughter,  a  swelling,  bleating  caco 
phony  of  execration,  so  furious  and  real  that  it  froze  the 
listeners'  blood,  answered  the  summons. 


450  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Then,  from  an  arch  in  the  apse  of  the  infernal  chapel, 
came  four  chanting  figures,  hideously  masked  and  draped 
in  crimson. 

With  slow,  measured  steps  they  approached.  The  arch 
was  black  again.  Deep  silence  supervened. 

Now  into  the  centre  came  two  figures. 

One  was  that  of  a  man  robed  hi  doublet  and  hose  of  flam 
ing  scarlet.  The  figure  he  supported  was  that  of  a  woman, 
though  she  seemed  a  corpse  returned  to  earth. 

A  long  white  robe  covered  her  from  head  to  toe,  like  the 
winding  sheet  of  death.  Her  eyes  were  bound  with  a  white 
cloth.  She  seemed  unable  to  walk,  and  was  being  urged 
forward,  step  by  step,  by  the  scarlet  man  at  her  side. 

Again  pandemonium  reigned,  heightened  by  the  crashing 
peals  of  the  thunder  that  rolled  in  the  heavens  overhead. 

"Emen  Hetan!  Emen  Hetan!  Palu!  Baalberi!  Emen 
Hetan!" 

The  bleating  of  goats,  the  shrieks  of  the  tortured  damned, 
the  howling  of  devils  in  the  nethermost  pit  of  Hell,  delirious 
laughter,  gibes  and  execrations  mingled  in  a  deafening 
chorus,  which  was  followed  by  a  dead  silence,  as  anew  the 
voice  of  the  Unseen  roared  through  the  vault: 

"  Bring  hither  the  bride,  the  stainless  dove ! " 

There  was  a  tramp  of  mailed  feet. 

Like  a  human  whirlwind  it  came  roaring  down  the  winding 
stairs,  through  the  vomitories  into  the  vault.  The  rattling 
of  weapons,  shouts  of  rage,  horror  and  dismay  mingled, 
resounding  from  the  vaulted  roof,  beaten  back  from  the 
marble  walls. 

With  drawn  sword  Tristan,  well  in  advance  of  his  compan 
ions,  leaped  into  the  chapel  of  Satan.  When  the  identity 
of  the  staggering  white  form  beside  the  scarlet  man  had 
been  revealed  to  him,  no  power  in  heaven  or  earth  could 
have  restrained  him.  Without  awaiting  the  signal  he  bounded 
with  a  choking  outcry  down  the  shaft. 


THE  BLACK  MASS  451 

But,  when  he  reached  the  floor  of  the  chapel,  he  recoiled 
as  if  the  Evil  One  had  arisen  from  the  floor  before  him, 
barring  his  advance. 

Before  him  stood  Theodora. 

She  wore  a  scarlet  robe,  fastened  at  the  throat  with  a 
clasp  of  rubies,  representing  the  heads  of  serpents.  Her 
wonderful  white  arms  were  bare,  her  hands  were  clenched 
as  if  she  were  about  to  fly  at  the  throat  of  a  hated  rival  and 
a  preternatural  lustre  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"  You !  " 

Tristan's  words  died  in  the  utterance  as  he  surveyed  her 
for  the  spaoe  of  a  moment  with  a  glance  so  full  of  horror  and 
disdain  that  she  knew  she  had  lost. 

"  Yes  —  it  is  I,"  she  replied,  hardly  above  a  whisper,  hot 
flush  and  -deadly  pallor  alternating  in  her  beautiful  face, 
terrible  in  its  set  calm.  "  And  —  though  I  may  not  possess 
you  —  that  other  shall  not !  See !  " 

Maddened  beyond  all  human  endurance  at  the  sight  that 
met  his  eyes  Tristan  hurled  Theodora  aside  as  she  attempted 
to  bar  his  way,  as  if  she  had  been  a  toy.  Rushing  straight 
through  the  press  towards  the  spot,  where  the  scarlet  man, 
his  arms  still  about  the  drooping  form  of  Hellayne,  had 
stopped  in  dismay  at  the  sudden  inrush  of  the  guards, 
Tristan  pierced  the  Grand  Chamberlain  through  and  through. 
Almost  dragging  the  woman  with  him  he  fell  beside 
the  devil's  altar.  His  head  struck  the  flagstones  an'd  he 
lay  still. 

The  Prefect  himself  dashed  up  the  steps  of  the  ebony 
shrine  and  hurled  the  High  Priest  of  Satan  on  the  flagstones 
below.  Bessarion's  neck  was  broken  and,  with  the  squeak 
of  a  bat,  his  black  soul  went  out. 

While  the  guards,  giving  no  quarter,  were  mowing  down 
all  those  of  the  devil's  congregation  who  did  not  seek  sal 
vation  in  flight  or  concealment,  Tristan  caught  the  swooning 
form  of  Hellayne  in  his  arms,  calling  her  name  in  despairing 


452   UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

accents,  as  he  stroked  the  silken  hair  back  from  the 
white  clammy  brow.  She  was  breathing,  but  her  eyes  were 
closed. 

Then  he   summoned  two  men-at-arms  to  his  side,  and 
between  them  they  carried  her  to  the  world  of  light  above. 


CHAPTER   XII 


SUNRISE 

HE    thunder    clouds    had   rolled 
ay/ay  to  eastward. 

A  rosy  glow  was  creeping 
over  the  sky.  The  air  was 
fresh  with  the  coming  of  dawn. 
Softly  they  laid  Hellayne  by 
the  side  of  a  marble  fountain 
and  splashed  the  cooling  drops 
upon  her  pale  face.  After  a 
time  she  opened  her  eyes. 
The  first  object  they  encountered  was  Tristan  who  was 
bending  over  her,  fear  and  anxiety  in  his  face. 

Her  colorless  lips  parted  in  a  whisper,  as  her  arms  encircled 
his  neck. 

"  You  are  with  me ! "  she  said,  and  the  transparent  lids 
drooped  again. 

Those  who  had  not  been  slain  of  the  congregation  of  Hell 
had  been  bound  in  chains.  Among  the  dead  was  Theodora. 
The  contents  of  a  phial  she  carried  on  her  person  had  done 
its  work  instantaneously. 

Suddenly  alarums  resounded  from  the  region  of  Castel 
San  Angelo.  There  was  a  great  stir  and  buzz,  as  of  an 
awakened  bee  hive.  There  were  shouts  at  the  Flaminian 
gate,  the  martial  tread  of  mailed  feet  and,  as  the  sun's  first 
ray  kissed  the  golden  Archangel  on  the  summit  of  the  Flavian 
Emperor's  mausoleum,  a  horseman,  followed  by  a  glittering 
retinue,  dashed  up  the  path,  dismounted  and  raised  his  visor. 
Before  the  astounded  assembly  stood  Alberic,  the  Senator 
of  Rome. 


454  UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 

Just  then  they  brought  the  body  of  Theodora  from  the 
subterranean  chapel  and  laid  it  silently  on  the  greensward, 
beside  that  of  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain. 

The  Cardinal-Archbishop  of  Ravenna  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  My  lord,  we  hardly  trust  our  eyes.  All  Rome  is  mourn 
ing  you  for  dead." 

Alberic  turned  to  the  speaker. 

"  With  the  aid  of  the  saint  I  have  prevailed  against  the 
foulest  treason  ever  committed  by  a  subject  against  his 
trusting  lord.  The  bribed  hosts  of  Hassan  Abdullah,  which 
were  to  sack  Rome,  are  scattered  in  flight.  The  attempt 
upon  my  own  life  has  been  prevented  by  a  miracle  from 
Heaven.  But  — what  of  these  dead?  " 

Odo  of  Cluny  approached  the  Senator  of  Rome. 

"  The  awful  horror  which  has  gripped  the  city  is  passed. 
Christ  rules  once  more  and  Satan  is  vanquished.  This  is  a 
matter  for  your  private  ear,  my  lord." 

Odo  pointed  to  the  kneeling  form  of  Tristan,  who  was 
supporting  Hellayne  in  his  arms,  trying  to  soothe  her  troubled 
spirit,  to  dispel  the  memory  of  the  black  horrors  which  held 
her  trembling  soul  hi  thrall. 

Approaching  Tristan,  Alberic  laid  his  hand  upon  his  head. 

"  We  knew  where  to  trust,  and  we  shall  know  how  to 
reward!  My  lords  and  prelates  of  the  Church!  Matters 
of  grave  import  await  you.  We  meet  again  in  the  Emperor's 
Tomb." 

Beckoning  to  his  retinue,  Alberic  remounted  his  steed,  as 
company  upon  company  of  men-at-arms  filed  past  —  a  host, 
such  as  the  city  of  Rome  had  not  beheld  in  decades,  with 
drums  and  trumpets,  pennants  and  banderols,  long  lines  of 
glittering  spears,  gorgeous  surcoats,  and  splendid  suits  of 
mail. 

The  forces  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  were  passing  into 
the  Eternal  City. 


SUNRISE  455 

At  their  head  the  Senator  of  Rome  was  returning  into  his 
own. 

At  last  they  were  alone,  Tristan  and  Hellayne. 

His  companions  had  departed.  With  them  they  had  taken 
their  dead. 

Hellayne  opened  her  eyes.  They  were  sombre,  yet  at 
peace. 

"Tristan!" 

He  bent  over  her. 

"  My  own  Hellayne !  " 

"  It  is  beautiful  to  be  loved,"  she  whispered.  "  I  have 
never  been  loved  before." 

"  You  shall  be,"  he  replied,  "  now  and  forever,  before 
God  and  the  world !  " 

The  old  shadow  came  again  into  her  eyes. 

"  What  of  the  Lord  Roger?  " 

She  read  the  answer  in  his  silence. 

A  tear  trickled  from  the  violet  pools  of  her  eyes. 

Then  she  raised  herself  in  his  arms. 

"  I  thought  I  should  go  mad,"  she  crooned.  "  But  I  knew 
you  would  come.  And  you  are  here  —  here  —  with  me,— 
Tristan." 

He  took  her  hands  hi  his,  his  soul  in  his  eyes. 

The  sun  had  risen  higher  through  the  gold  bars  of  the 
east,  dispelling  the  grey  chill  of  dawn. 

She  nestled  closer  to  him. 

"  Take  me  back  to  Avalon,  to  my  rose  garden,"  she 
crooned.  "  Life  is  before  us  —  yonder  —  where  first  we 
loved." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  eyes  and  the  small 
sweet  mouth. 

A  lark  began  to  sing  in  the  silence. 

THE   END 


WHAT  ALLAH  WILLS 

$QX  {By  Invin  L.   Qordon  PJ)X 

Author  of  "  The  Log  of  The  Ark  " 

•K 
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m 

Take  Morocco  for  a  background  —  that  quaint  and 
mysterious  land  of  mosques  and  minarets,  where  the 
muezzin  still  calls  to  prayer  at  sundown  the  faithful. 

Imagine  a  story  written  with  power  and  intensity 
and  the  thrill  of  adventure  in  the  midst  of  fanatical 
Moslems.  Add  to  this  a  wealthy  young  medical  stu 
dent,  a  red-blooded  American,  who  gives  up  his  life 
to  helping  the  lepers  of  Arzilla,  and  the  presence  of  a 
beautiful  American  girl  who,  despite  her  love  for  the 
hero,  is  induced  to  take  up  the  Mohammedan  faith, 
and  you  have  some  idea  of  what  this  remarkable  story 
presents. 

WHAT  ALLAH  WILLS  is  a  big  story  of  love  and 
adventure.  Mr.  Gordon  is  the  author  of  two  notable 
non-fiction  successes,  but  he  scores  heavily  in  this,  his 
first  work  of  fiction. 


UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 


^{athan  Gallizier  <JM 

Author  of  "  The  Sorceress  of  Rome,"  "  The  Court  of 
Lucifer,"  "  The  Hill  of  Venus,"  etc. 

H 

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• 

This  romantic  tale  of  tenth-century  Rome  concerns 
itself  with  the  fortunes  and  adventures  of  Tristan  of 
Avalon  while  in  the  Eternal  City  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
do  penance  for  his  love  of  Hellayne,  the  wife  of  his 
liege  lord,  Count  Roger  de  Laval. 

Tristan's  meeting  with  the  Queen  Courtesan  of  the 
Aventine;  her  infatuation  for  the  pilgrim;  Tristan's 
rounds  of  obediences,  cut  short  by  his  appointment  as 
Captain  of  Sant'  Angelo  by  Alberic,  Senator  of  Rome ; 
the  intrigues  of  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  who 
aspires  to  the  dominion  of  Rome  and  the  love  of 
Theodora;  the  trials  of  Hellayne,  who  alternately  falls 
into  the  power  of  Basil  and  Theodora;  the  scene  be 
tween  the  Grand  Chamberlain  and  Bessarion  in  the 
ruins  of  the  Coliseum ;  the  great  feud  between  Roxana 
and  Theodora  and  the  final  overthrow  of  the  latter's 
regime  constitute  some  of  the  dramatic  episodes  of  the 
romance. 

"  This  new  book  adds  greater  weight  to  the  claim 
that  Mr.  Gallizier  is  the  greatest  writer  of  historical 
novels  in  America  today."  —  Cincinnati  Times-Star. 

"  In  many  respects  we  consider  Mr.  Gallizier  the 
most  versatile  and  interesting  writer  of  the  day."  — 
Saxby's  Magazine. 


A  third  CHEERFUL   BOOK 

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SYLVIA  ARDEN  DECIDES 


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In  the  original  CHEERFUL  BOOK,  with  its  rippling 
play  of  incident,  Sylvia  proved  herself  a  bringer  of 
tidings  of  great  joy  to  many  people.  In  the  second 
book  devoted  to  her  adventures,  she  was  a  charming 
heroine  —  urbane,  resourceful  and  vivacious  —  with  an 
added  shade  of  picturesqueness  due  to  her  environ 
ment.  In  this  third  story  Sylvia  is  a  little  older  grown, 
deep  in  the  problem  of  just-out-of-college  adjustment 
to  the  conditions  of  the  "  wide,  wide  world,"  and  in  the 
process  of  learning,  as  she  puts  it,  "to  live  as  deep  and 
quick  as  I  can."  The  scene  of  the  new  story  is  laid 
partly  at  Arden  Hall  and  partly  in  New  York  and,  in 
her  sincere  effort  to  find  herself,  Sylvia  finds  love  in 
real  fairy  tale  fashion. 

"  There  is  a  world  of  human  nature,  and  neighbor 
hood  contentment  and  quaint,  quiet  humor  in  Mar 
garet  R.  Piper's  books  of  good  cheer.  Her  tales  are 
well  proportioned  and  subtly  strong  in  their  literary 
aspects  and  quality."  —  North  American,  Philadelphia. 


A  PLACE  IN  THE  SUN 


3KCrs.  Henry 


Author   of  "  The   Career  of  Dr.    Weaver"   "  The   Rose 
of  Roses,"  etc. 


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Gunda  Karoli  is  a  very  much  alive  young  person  with 
a  zest  for  life  and  looking-forward  philosophy  which 
helps  her  through  every  trial.  She  is  sustained  in  her 
struggles  against  the  disadvantage  of  her  birth  by  a 
burning  faith  in  the  great  American  ideal  —  that  here 
in  the  United  States  every  one  has  a  chance  to  win  for 
himself  a  place  in  the  sun. 


Gunda  takes  for  her  gospel  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence,  only  to  find  that,  although  this  democratic 
doctrine  is  embodied  in  the  constitution  of  the  country, 
it  does  not  manifest  itself  outwardly  in  its  social  life. 
Nevertheless,  she  succeeds  in  mounting  step  by  step  in 
the  social  scale,  from  the  time  she  first  appears  at  Sky- 
land  on  the  Knobs  as  a  near-governess,  to  her  brief 
season  in  the  metropolis  as  a  danseuse. 

How  she  wins  the  interest  of  Justin  Arnold,  the  fas 
tidious  descendant  of  a  fine  old  family,  and  brings  into 
his  self-centered  existence  a  new  life  and  fresh  charm, 
provides  a  double  interest  to  the  plot. 


VIRGINIA  OF  ELK  CREEK 
VALLEY 


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A  sequel  to  last  year's  success,  THE  GIRL  FROM 
THE  BIG  HORN  COUNTRY  (sixth  printing).  This 
new  story  is  more  western  in  flavor  than  the  first  book 
— •  since  practically  all  of  the  action  occurs  back  in 
the  Big  Horn  country,  at  Virginia's  home,  to  which 
she  invites  her  eastern  friends  for  a  summer  vacation. 
The  vacation  in  the  West  proves  "  the  best  ever "  for 
the  Easterners;  and  in  recounting  their  pleasures  they 
tell  of  the  hundreds  of  miles  of  horseback  riding,  how 
they  climbed  mountains,  trapped  a  bear,  shot  gophers, 
fished,  camped,  homesteaded,  and  of  the  delightful  hospi 
tality  of  Virginia  and  her  friends. 

"  The  story  is  full  of  life  and  movement  and  presents 
a  variety  of  interesting  characters."  —  St.  Paul  Despatch. 

"  This  is  most  gladsome  reading  to  all  who  love  health- 
fulness  of  mind,  heart  and  body."  —  Boston  Ideas. 


Selections  from 

The  Page  Company's 

List  of  Fiction 

WORKS  OF 

ELEANOR  H.   PORTER 

POLLYANNA:  The  GLAD  Book     (360,000) 

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Mr.  Leigh  Mitchell  Hodges,  The  Optimist,  in  an  editorial  for 
the  Philadelphia  North  American,  says:  "And  when,  after  Polly- 
anna  has  gone  away,  you  get  her  letter  saying  she  is  going  to 
take  'eight  steps'  to-morrow  —  well,  I  don't  know  just  what 
you  may  do,  but  I  know  of  one  person  who  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands  and  shook  with  the  gladdest  sort  of  sadness  and 
got  down  on  his  knees  and  thanked  the  Giver  of  all  gladness 
for  Pollyanna." 

POLLYANNA  GROWS  UP:  The  Second  GLAD  Book 

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When  the  story  of  POLLYANNA  told  in  The  Glad  Book  was 
ended  a  great  cry  of  regret  for  the  vanishing  "Glad  Girl"  went 
up  all  over  the  country  —  and  other  countries,  too.  Now 
POLLYANNA  appears  again,  just  as  sweet  and  joyous-hearted, 
more  grown  up  and  more  lovable. 

"Take  away  frowns!  Put  down  the  worries!  Stop  fidgeting 
and  disagreeing  and  grumbling!  Cheer  up,  everybody!  POLLY- 
ANNA  has  come  back!" — Christian  Herald. 


The  GLAD  Book  Calendar 

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THE   POLLYANNA   CALENDAR 

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dar  is  beautifully  illustrated." — Kansas  City  Star. 


THE  PAGE  COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF  ELEANOR  H.  PORTER  (Continued) 

MISS  BILLY  (18th  printing) 

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"There    is    something    altogether    fascinating    about    'Miss 

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demand  the  individual  attention  of  the  reader  from  the  moment 

we  open  the  book  until  we  reluctantly  turn  the  last   page." — 

Boston  Transcript. 

MISS  BILLY'S   DECISION  (llth  printing) 

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"The  story  is  written  in  bright,  clever  style  and  has  plenty 
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her  friends." — New  Haven  Times  Leader. 

MISS  BILLY  —  MARRIED  (8th  printing) 

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as  much'  gladness.  She  disseminates  joy  so  naturally  that  we 
wonder  why  all  girls  are  not  like  her." — Boston  Transcript. 

SIX  STAR  RANCH  (19th  Printing) 

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"  'Six  Star  Ranch'  bears  all  the  charm  of  the  author's  genius 
and  is  about  a  little  girl  down  in  Texas  who  practices  the  Tolly- 
anna  Philosophy'  with  irresistible  success.  The  book  is  one  of 
the  kindliest  things,  if  not  the  best,  that  the  author  of  the  Polly 
anna  books  has  done.  It  is  a  welcome  addition  to  the  fast- 
growing  family  of  Glad  Books." — Howard  Russell  Bangs  in  the 
Boston  Post. 

CROSS   CURRENTS 

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"To  one  who  enjoys  a  story  of  life  as  it  is  to-day,  with  its 

sorrows  as  well  as  its  triumphs,  this  volume  is  sure  to  appeal." 

—  Book  News  Monthly. 

THE  TURN   OF  THE  TIDE 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated.     Net,  $1.25;  carriage  paid,  $1.40 
"A  very  beautiful  book  showing  the  influence  that  went  to 
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good  woman." —  Herald  and  Presbyter,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

L.  M.  MONTGOMERY 

THE  FOUR  ANNE  BOOKS 

ANNE   OF   GREEN    GABLES  (40th  printing) 

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"In  'Anne  of  Green  Gables'  you  will  find  the  dearest  and 

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—  Mark  Twain  in  a  letter  to  Francis  Wilson. 

ANNE   OF   AVONLEA  (24th  printing) 

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"A  book  to  lift  the  spirit  and  send  the  pessimist  into  bank 
ruptcy!" —  Meredith  Nicholson. 

CHRONICLES   OF  AVONLEA  (6th  printing) 

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"A  story  of  decidedly  unusual  conception  and  interest." — 
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ANNE   OF  THE  ISLAND  (10th  printing) 

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"It  has  been  well  worth  while  to  watch  the  growing  up  of 
Anne,  and  the  privilege  of  being  on  intimate  terms  with  her 
throughout  the  process  has  been  properly  valued." — New  York 
Herald.  ^________ 

THE   STORY   GIRL  (9th  printing) 

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"A  book  that  holds  one's  interest  and  keeps  a  kindly  smile 
upon  one's  lips  and  in  one's  heart." —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

KILMENY  OF  THE   ORCHARD   (10th  printing) 

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"A  story  born  in  the  heart  of  Arcadia  and  brimful  of  the 
sweet  life  of  the  primitive  environment." —  Boston  Heral  -. 

THE   GOLDEN  ROAD  (5th  printing) 
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and  then,  by  delicate  hints  of  romance,  tragedy  and  pathos.' 

—  Chicago  Record  Hz,   id. 


THE  PAGE  COMPANY'S 


NOVELS  BY 

MRS.  HENRY  BACKUS 

THE  CAREER  OF  DOCTOR  WEAVER 

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"High  craftsmanship  is  the  leading  characteristic  of  this 
novel,  which,  like  all  good  novels,  is  a  love  story  abounding 
in  real  palpitant  human  interest.  The  most  startling  feature 
of  the  story  is  the  way  its  author  has  torn  aside  the  curtain 
and  revealed  certain  phases  of  the  relation  between  the  medical 
profession  and  society." — Dr.  Charles  Reed  in  the  Lancet  Clinic. 

THE  ROSE   OF  ROSES 

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The  author  has  achieved  a  thing  unusual  in  developing  a 
love  story  which  adheres  to  conventions  under  unconventional 
circumstances. 

"Mrs.  Backus'  novel  is  distinguished  in  the  first  place  for 
its  workmanship." —  Buffalo  Evening  News. 

NOVELS  BY 

MARGARET  R.  PIPER 
SYLVIA'S  EXPERIMENT:  The  Cheerful  Book 

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"An  atmosphere  of  good  spirits  pervades  the  book;  the  hu 
mor  that  now  and  then  flashes  across  the  page  is  entirely  natural, 
and  the  characters  are  well  individualized." — Boston  Post. 

SYLVIA  OF  THE  HILL  TOP:  The  Second  Cheerful 

B0ok  Trade  Mark 

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"There  is  a  world  of  human  nature  and  neighborhood  content 
ment  and  quaint  quiet  humor  in  Margaret  R.  Piper's  second 
book  of  good  cheer." —  Philadelphia  North  American. 

MISS   MADELYN   MACK,  DETECTIVE 
By  HUGH  C.  WEIR. 

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"Clever  in  plot  and  effective  in  style,  the  author  has  seized 

on  some  of  the  most  sensational  features  of  modern  life,  and 

the  result  is  a  detective  novel  that  gets  away  from  the  beaten 

track  of  mystery  stories." —  New  York  Sun. 


LIST   OP  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 
HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES 

Cloth  decorative,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color     ....     $2.00 
The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberts's  new  collection  are  the  strongest 
and  best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely 
met  with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "In  the  Silences," 
where  they  are  the  supreme  rulers. 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  envi 
able  place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imag 
inative  and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers," — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

RED  FOX 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTTTROTTS  CAREER  IK  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  OF 
His  KIND.  With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  inter 
est  old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know- 
animals  and  those  who  do  not." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates 
and  many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways   the  most  brilliant  collection   of  animal 

stories  that  has  appeared;   well  named  and  well  done." — John 

Burroughs. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."    With 

forty-eight    full-page    plates    and    many    decorations    from 

drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative  ..... 

"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  ro 
bust  in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of 
woodcraft.  Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Rob 
erts  occupies  an  enviable  place," — The  Outlook. 


WORKS  OF 

GABRIELE  D'ANNUNZIO 

Signer  d'Annunzio  is  known  throughout  the  world  as  a  poet 
and  a  dramatist,  but  above  all  as  a  novelist,  for  it  is  in  his  novels 
that  he  is  at  his  best.  In  poetic  thought  and  graceful  expression 
he  has  few  equals  among  the  writers  of  the  day. 

He  is  engaged  on  a  most  ambitious  work  —  nothing  less  than 
the  writing  of  nine  novels  which  cover  the  whole  field  of  human 
sentiment.  This  work  he  has  divided  into  three  trilogies,  and 
nve  of  the  nine  books  have  been  published.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  other  labors  have  interrupted  the  completion  of  the  series 
This  book  is  realistic.  Some  say  that  it  is  brutally  so' 
But  the  realism  is  that  of  Flaubert,  and  not  of  Zola.  There 
is  no  plain  speaking  for  the  sake  of  plain  speaking.'  Every 
detail  is  justified  in  the  fact  that  it  illuminates  either  the  motives 
or  the  actions  of  the  man  and  woman  who  here  stand  revealed 
It  is  deadly  true.  The  author  holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature, 
and  the  reader,  as  he  sees  his  own  experiences  duplicated  in 
passage  after  passage,  has  something  of  the  same  sensation  as 
all  of  us  know  on  the  first  reading  of  George  Meredith's  '  Ego 
ist.'  Reading  these  pages  is  like  being  out  in  the  country  on 
a  dark  night  in  a  storm.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  lightning  comes 
and  every  detail  of  your  surroundings  is  revealed."  —  Review 
of  The  Triumph  of  Death  "  in  the  New  York  Evening  Sun. 

The  volumes  published  are  as  follows.  Each  1  vol.,  library 
12mo,  cloth  ..........  $1.50 

J* 
THE  ROMANCES  OF   THE  ROSB 

THE   CHILD    OF   PLEASURE  (!L  PIACERE). 

THE    INTRUDER  (L'INNOCENTE). 

THE  TRIUMPH   OF    DEATH    (!L    TBIONFO    DBLLA 

MOBTE). 

J» 
THE    ROMANCES    OF    THE   LILY 

THE   MAIDENS     OF    THE  ROCKS    (LE    VBEGINI 


Jt 

THE  ROMANCES  OF  THE  POMEGRANATE 
THE  FLAME  OF  LIFE  to.  Fnoco). 


!  • 


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